Raging Bull
by AwkwardEnder
Summary: 2 teenagers lose the most important thing in their lives and must learn how to live without it. Ralphie-centric. R/K. Story is told exclusively from the POV of Ralphie Tennelli and Keesha Franklin. Rated T for Ralphie's constant swearing and mild sexual themes. Will become an M rating eventually for violence and dark content.
1. Chapter 1: The Status Quo

Greetings. The following is my first attempt at fanfiction. It focuses on Ralphie Tennelli and Keesha Franklin. The other children are only supporting characters. For you shippers, this story is R/K, with some hints of C/DA and A/P. When I first began writing this story, it was quite personal, I'll admit. It was a form of therapy for me and some of my own problems. However, since then I have grown, and that purpose is no longer needed. However, I still aim to finish it, as...well, I like the story!

Good stories need critical feedback, and I am not about to show this fanfiction to any of my real life friends (they already think I have an MSB fetish). Therefore, serious constructive criticism is welcome and HIGHLY encouraged. If a piece of criticism is legitimate, well thought-out, and considerate of my feelings (it doesn't make me cry), I will answer it at the end of the next chapter I publish. I reserve the right to incorporate your changes, but if I don't, I will explain why.

Anyways, that's enough about me. I now take you to Ralphie Tennelli in his senior year of high school. Enjoy.

* * *

 **October 2004**

 **Walkerville High School, Walkerville, WA**

BOOM, shicka shicka, ka-BOOM, shicka shicka, ka-

BOOM, shicka shicka, ka-BOOM, shicka shicka, ka-

The beat of the drum line rang in Ralphie's head as his heart pounded. In the distance, the bright stadium lights made the football field glow. He loved this part. No matter how many games he played, the ecstasy of this moment never grew old.

"Alright guys!" he roared to the line on his left and right. "Ready to kick some Bull Dog ass?"

His teammates roared back at him. He could feel their support coming from all directions, making him invincible.

"LET'S GET 'EM!"

He ran toward the football field at full speed. He could hear 40 footsteps thundering behind him, making him feel like his own feet were causing an earthquake. As he approached the turf, he heard the announcer:

"And here comes the home team, let's hear it for the Walkerville Bog Beast Butterflies!"

Ralphie was the first person to greet the crowd. The cheerleaders spun their glittery pom-poms. The audience cheered and waved their white and red streamers with pride. They stood up for him. They whooped and hollered. They made him feel like a rock star.

"Go Ralphie!" "Knock 'em dead, R!" "We love you R! "RRRRRRR!"

It was heaven. He was amazing. He was a hero. He gave the crowd a big grin, waved his trademark red cap, then turned around to show off the giant red letter "R" on his jersey.

Today was game day.

The Walkerville Butterflies had the ball, so Ralphie, as defensive captain, patiently waited for his turn in the spotlight. It was only a matter of time before the offense either scored a touchdown or fumbled the ball. He turned and looked out at the crowd, trying to spot his friends. He knew Carlos was playing trumpet in the band, and DA was drum major. He wouldn't be able to get their attention from the field, but it was nice seeing his best buddy cracking some shitty joke to the poor sap next to him. He noticed Arnold and Phoebe were waving at him from the middle of the bleachers. He took off his hat and waved it back at them, trying to ignore the feelings of discomfort when he saw them kiss.

Tim was drawing something, as he always was. Wanda was a couple rows behind him. When they made eye contact, she smiled and gave him the finger as her special way of saying "hello." He would've flipped her off in return, but then the entire crowd would see it and get offended. So he just smiled back.

Ralphie continued to scan for a sign of Keesha, but she wasn't there. He made eye contact with Arnold and gave him the "where is she?" look. Arnold just shook his head. Ralphie shrugged his shoulders. Keesha must be doing the school broadcast right now. Which meant that she'd hear about his biggest plays while on the air.

Suddenly, the crowd started booing, and Ralphie's attention snapped back to the field. The receiver had fumbled, and the Bull Dogs had just picked up the ball. _Jesus Christ, our offense sucks,_ he thought to himself.

"Alright guys, we're up!" he called out. He took off his red cap and put on his helmet. He took a moment to admire the big letter "R" that replaced his former number #07. He pulled a LOT of favors with Coach Teller to get the letter, but it completed his picture too perfectly.

Out on the field, the defensive linemen took their places on the line of scrimmage, facing the Bull Dogs' squad. Ralphie, as inside linebacker, hung out a few yards behind, eyeing the field, looking for an opening. He found it - the little guy on the outside was shaking slightly. _There's my punching bag._

Ralphie dug in his cleats and took a deep breath in, remembering Ms. Frizzle's lesson on the heart and lungs. He willed his heartbeat to slow down, giving himself a moment to prepare.

Time slowed. Everything was still. The crowd faded out as Ralphie balanced on his tip-toes.

"HIKE!"

The field instantly turned from a chess game to a mass of flowing flesh and testosterone. Bodies collided with bodies as the tackles and defensive lineman butted heads. Ralphie exhaled as he sprinted over to the right where that poor little outside tackle was waiting for him. The small fry stood his ground, bracing for impact with the 6'10" tower that was Ralphie Tennelli.

 _Brave kid,_ he thought.

 _BOOM_

Ralphie pushed all 250lbs of his body into the squirt, bowling him over with little resistance. He kept sprinting as he saw the Runningback grab the ball from the Quarterback's hands. He changed targets accordingly and bolted for the #80 jersey. His heart was racing.

The halfback tried to get in Ralphie's way.

 _BOOM_

The halfback was no longer an issue.

Ralphie's breathing quickened. His legs were starting to burn; he needed more oxygen, or he wasn't going to catch up. He was within 2 yards of the Runningback when a Butterfly defensive lineman, #29 Jake, blocked the exit. The Runningback was trying to weasel his way through when Ralphie closed the distance and lowered his head for a tackle.

"SHICKA SHICKA KA-!"

 _CRACK. THUD._

The world spun. Ralphie was on the ground. There was the sound of cheering underneath the awful ringing in his ears. He was struggling to figure out which way was up when he felt a painful rap on his helmet.

"R, the play's over! You're crushing them!"

He felt 2 bodies underneath him and realized that he'd tackled #29 Jake as well as the Runningback. He rose slowly, trying desperately not to stumble. He wanted to wave at the audience to let them know he was fine, but he didn't know which direction they were in. He only saw shapes that he assumed were players.

 _I'll be fine_ , he told himself. _Nothing that hasn't happened before. Just give it a minute during the huddle and you'll be good as new._

Sure enough, while Coach Teller was dictating the next defensive play, Ralphie's vision cleared. He briefly considered telling Coach about his concussion. His mom had urged him to rest if he ever took a hit like that. But he couldn't leave now. _The game's still 0-0. If I take a break, the Bull Dogs might actually score. We could lose!_

"You okay, R?" Coach Teller was looking up at him inquisitively. "You look a little pale. Do you think going to be sick?"

Ralphie shook his head. "I'm fine coach, but thanks. What's the play?"

* * *

"Excuse me, Mr. Papal, but you're dodging the question."

Keesha was on fire. The studio lights beat down on the mayor's head, making his sweat very apparent to the news camera. He began squirming in his seat like a fat panda. Keesha loved it when they squirmed.

"I just told you, we have a spot for the supermall just outside of Walkerville, and construction should begin -"

"I'm sorry Mr. Papal, but let's get the facts. May I remind you that 10 years ago, you commissioned this same mall to be placed in the Walkerville swamp. A mall that, despite the fact that there were some planning issues, is STILL not here!"

"I'm sorry, Keesha, but that's all the time we have for today." Derek, her co-anchor, interrupted her. "Thank you very much for watching. We'll keep you updated on the events of the city council elections in the weeks to come. For Walkerville Weekly, I'm Derek Thompson."

Keesha beamed for the cameras. "And I'm Keesha Franklin. Thank you Mr. Papal. Stay tuned for our sports update in just a few minutes."

Keesha held her forced smile for another 5 seconds as the outro music played off the newscast. Finally, the "On Air" sign dimmed, and the thick, awkward silence in the studio devolved into the hustle and bustle of 20 students racing to prepare the next segment. People ran to and fro like builder ants. All 3 cameramen were talking into their microphones at the same time, and the stage manager was shouting something. As Keesha let the sound guy tamper with her microphone, she grinned smugly at the mayor.

"Sorry for being so harsh, Mr. Papal. I'm just doing my job."

"And doing it well, Keesha," the mayor replied, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "But you didn't let me finish my argument. If this conversation was really as important as you say, you'd continue this after the break. It's more important to the good of Walkerville than your football game."

Keesha shook her head, her poofy hair bouncing inside its tight bun. "I couldn't agree more, Mr. Papal, but unfortunately, I don't run the program. Maybe we can continue this discussion next broadcast?"

But the stage manager was already yelling for places, and there was no time for further plans. The mayor walked off the stage, and their teacher, Mr. Evans, started talking into Keesha's earpiece.

"Okay, Keesha, the game's score was 16 - 0, Walkerville wins. Opposing Runningback suffered from a..."

Keesha tuned Mr. Evans out; everything he said would be on the teleprompter anyways. She knew the he was holding her hand, which she neither needed nor appreciated.

The students all shuffled into their positions. The sports reporter, a blond, white kid named Jack, quickly got up onto the news stage and made himself comfortable in the third seat. Keesha breathed deep as the "On Air" sign turned back on.

"Hello, and welcome back to the Walkerville Weekly with our sports report. I'm Keesha Franklin."

"And I'm Derek Thompson. An eventful game today, score 16-nothing, Bog Beast Butterflies, but Runningback Santana for the Bull Dogs has a sprained knee, and will be out for about a week. We go to our sports reporter, Jack Birmingham, for the details."

Keesha put her facial expressions on autopilot, smiling and nodding as Jack discussed whatever happened at the game. Her thoughts automatically went to her college application for Washington State University's broadcast journalism program. That last interview with the mayor was definitely the final piece for the news reel portion of her application; she could feel it. Together with her forest fire coverage and the O'Neill court case, she was looking good -

"...the sprain was caused when Tennelli rammed into him in the 2nd quarter."

 _Ralphie?_

"You can see here, 'R' Tennelli took out both Santana and his own lineman, Vorndran. We think the damage might have occurred after the tackle, cause if you look here, Tennelli doesn't get up right away. He continues lying on top of them, well after the play is over, probably bending Santana's knee until the muscle sprained. I guess that's just how the 'R' likes to relax after a tough play; on the bodies of his enemies."

Keesha maintained her composure. She knew Jack was blowing smoke out of his ass; that was NOT how knees are sprained. Still, something was wrong. She watched the footage closely and noticed that Ralphie stumbled a little as he walked off the field. She'd text Phoebe after the show.

"Thank you very much Jack. That's all for our sports section. I'm Keesha Franklin"

"And I'm Derek Thompson. We'll be right back with Janet Perlstein in Entertainment."


	2. Chapter 2: The Ternelli Family

"Great game, R!" "Hey there, big guy, nice game." "Take us to State, R! "Hey hottie, nice tackles."

Ralphie spent a good 10 minutes enjoying all the pats on the back from his peers, paying special attention to the ladies. He was still nursing a splitting headache, but he ignored it as best he could. _Oh, why hello there, sexy. You wanna come over to my place and show me how you got those legs so...flexible? You DO! Why yes, I AM the best thing since sliced bread. No, Ralphie, that's stupid; think of something better. Um...why yes, I AM the best thing since...um...Carlos!_

"Yo, Ralphie! That tackle was awesome!"

Carlos, complete with his navy blue sweater, ran up to Ralphie and gave him a big hug, his trumpet pressing into the padding on Ralphie's back. The other kids quickly surrounded him. He was a head taller than everyone, even Tim, who was 6 feet.

"Did you really crush that guy?" Arnold asked, a worried look on his face. "I heard his ankle is sprained."

"It's his knee, Arn," Ralphie replied. "And yeah, apparently that happened."

"You knew?" said Wanda. "And you still tackled him? Jesus, Ralphie, what the fuck's wrong with you?"

"I didn't pull his muscles apart on purpose! I just needed a minute to catch my breath. Still, you gotta admit: that tackle was amazing! Two people at the same time!"

Wanda laughed and raised her tiny, muscular arm as high as she could for a high-five. Ralphie reciprocated while nervously looking around for the football guys. He had to make sure no one saw "R" hanging out with the Magic School Bus crew.

"Hey gang, this is great and all, but I gotta go," he said. "Harry's hosting an after party at his place. Catch you guys later?"

"Sure thing dude! Have fun!" Carlos gave him the "get some!" thumbs up. The others looked...less excited.

"What's that about a party, son?" A stern voice caught him off-guard. It was David Terese, his step-dad of 5 years. He was quietly standing behind Ralphie, holding his walking stick like an old nobleman would hold his cane. His calm but intense demeanor evaporated Ralphie's desire to party hard.

"H - Hi David," Ralphie sputtered.

"Hey Dad," said Phoebe.

Ralphie looked at Phoebe Terese-Tennelli. She was standing next to Mr. Terese, buried underneath her auburn sweatshirt. Her long, brown hair flowed in the evening wind. Sometimes, Ralphie couldn't believe that she was the same sweet, timid girl from Ms. Frizzle's class.

"You, young man, are heading straight home," his step-dad insisted. "Your party antics are done this year."

"You don't have to tell me twice, okay? Jesus." He gave Mr. Terese flak, but honestly, he didn't really care if he went to Harry's party or not. Sure the ladies were always hitting on him, and Ralphie loved the attention. In his best fantasies, he'd get some action, but that wasn't going to happen because...well...he didn't want to think about that. Besides, if he was going to have fun, he'd have to get super drunk, and combining booze with his terrible headache was a stomach disaster waiting to happen. Besides, watching "Fullmetal Alchemist" with Phoebe sounded just as fun.

The ride home was pretty quiet. Ralphie tried to complain about the Mariners game last night, but nobody had watched it besides him.

"You've started the application for Duke yet?" Mom asked.

"Yeah, I've started it," Ralphie lied. "But I keep telling you, I'm golden. What do you not get about a verbal agreement?"

"Hun, you still have to pass admissions. It doesn't matter what NLI you sign, if they don't accept your academic application, you're not in. It's very important that you blah blah blah Duke blah blah blah Notre Dame blah blah importance of grades blah blah blah blah blah blah very proud of you blah blah blah -"

"Oh my God, Mom, I get it! Fuck!"

"Watch your language!"

"I'm 17, I can say what I want."

His mom threw a pencil at him, poking him in the cheek. He grumbled an apology that he didn't mean.

"It's okay, Ralphie, or should I say, R," said Phoebe with an innocent smile. "Once you're at college, you can curse as much as you want."

"Don't call me R, Pheebs. That's for the _ladies._ "

"Okay. By the way, have you decided on a major besides 'baseball' yet?" Phoebe had a weird knack for saying the most sarcastic things with absolute sincerity.

"You know what? Your...your face is stupid." Ralphie had written "baseball" as his major on a previous application. When he asked Phoebe to review it, she laughed so hard, she cried. Ralphie threw that one in the trash. Eastern Kentucky could go fuck itself.

"This is serious, Ralphie," his mother continued. "You know that they want someone with direction in life. Picking a major really helps."

"Really, Mom? 'They want someone with direction in life.' Thanks for the compliment. Hey, maybe I'll try cartoons as a major."

Phoebe's face lit up. "That'd be great for you!" Ralphie didn't know if she was being sarcastic or not.

"Well, what about you?" he asked. "How 's Pre-Med treating you?"

Phoebe's face fell. "It's not."

"Wait, what?"

"There's no such thing as a Pre-Med major. My counselor lied to me."

"Get the fuck out. Ow!" Ralphie took a pencil to the knee. "So what now?"

"It actually means I can choose whatever major I want, as long as it's fairly academic and science oriented. It doesn't even have to be that; I could be in music if I wanted to."

"Oh my God, you should major in tree-hugging. It's perfect!"

"Shut up! It's called environmental science!"

The family minivan pulled into the driveway, and the Ternelli family slowly loaded out. Ralphie was exhausted from such a rough game, and his head still ached. He slowly opened the door, only to be greeted by a giant dog leaping onto his chest.

 _BARK! BARK! BARK!_

Baxter was an enormous Labrador with jet black fur and a stupid smile that never went away. His tongue hung out of his mouth and his tail wagged furiously. He would have been the perfect family dog, if only he learned to stop barking at four in the morning. Everyone in the family loved Baxter except for Ralphie, who thought his bark was incredibly annoying.

"Pheebs! Control your dog, dammit! Ow!" Another pencil hit his chest. Phoebe knelt down and took Baxter's face in her hands.

"Oh, hewo buddy. Mommy's here fo' wou. Have wou been a good boy? Wes wou have!"

Ralphie pushed past the 2 lovebirds, dropped his backpack and sports duffle on the floor like a slob, and walked up the stairs to his room for some quality R&R, no pun intended.

"Hey Ralphie, wait."

Ralphie turned around to see Phoebe shuffle up the stairs towards him. She wrapped her arms around his belly in an awkward embrace, her hands not quite touching each other behind his back.

"Thanks for staying home today," she murmured.

Ralphie hugged Phoebe tightly, burying his hat in her hair. All of his problems felt trivial compared to his little sister. They didn't let go of each other until Baxter started whining.

"Sshht upfff, Bxtrrr!" Phoebe's yell was muffled by Ralphie's chest. He took that as his cue to let go.

"Fullmetal?"

"Sounds great."


	3. Chapter 3: Strawberries

Keesha sniffed the familiar scent of eggs and bacon as she opened the front door. Her grandmother was making breakfast for dinner. And she only made breakfast for dinner on one occasion: her strawberry preserves! Keesha rushed to the kitchen with a new spring in her step. Her grandmother was cutting something in the kitchen when Keesha loudly declared her presence.

"It's Strawberry night!"

Her grandma jumped, sending a pot onto the floor with a loud _CLANG._ Pieces of ceramic scattered everywhere on the hard wood. Grandma whirled around to face Keesha, her old-lady sweater and long flowing skirt hiding her shaking feet.

"Keesha, love. I didn't see you! What on earth are you doing back so late?"

Keesha was already on the ground picking up the pieces of ceramic.

"I told you. I was anchoring this week's broadcast. I'm so sorry; I should've knocked. Don't move, you might step on something."

"I knew you must have had a good reason for staying out. But you really shouldn't be picking those up with your bare hands. You could cut yourself!"

Keesha paused to notice the scratches on her palms. She grabbed a rag and cleared a path for her Grandmother to walk on. Grandma slowly toddled out of the kitchen while Keesha grabbed the broom.

She stole a glance at her Gran's feet to make sure they were okay. Thankfully, they looked perfectly fine in their old age, complete with nail polish. Her dark face sported her wrinkles well, and her gray hair was groomed splendidly in short tight curls.

"Hey Grandma, I need to talk to you."

"In a minute sweetheart. The biscuits are almost done, and you know I need to concentrate. You don't want your eggs scorched."

"Okay, but it's really important."

"I never said it wasn't darling."

It wasn't long before dinner was served. The small kitchen table was decorated in a simple tablecloth with 4 different bowls of food: biscuits, eggs, hash browns, and strawberry preserves. The homey atmosphere of the table was complemented by the dim overhead lamp, antique and squeaky. The rustic kitchen held pots and pans on hangars above the oven, and the wood floor creaked with age. It was a cozy old house for a cozy old woman. Keesha knew it didn't fit her style, and when she eventually moved out, she hoped to get a modern apartment. Still, it was home.

Grandma recited the Lord's Prayer, and Keesha began covering his biscuits with strawberry deliciousness. The warm bread melted in her mouth as the sweet honey texture swirled around her tongue. It brought her childhood back to her; made her feel like a kid again. But tonight, it just made the conversation harder to bring up.

"Grandma..." Keesha didn't know where to start.

"What is it dear?" Her Grandma looked up from her food. Her eyes sparkled, pushing Keesha to continue.

Keesha took a deep breath. _Here goes._

"It's about college."

"What about it?"

Her Grandmother's eyes returned to her food. As she was about to cut into her waffle, her fork hesitated.

"How old are you?" Gran asked.

"I'm 18."

Her grandmother's hand trembled as she put the fork down. She wiped away the wetness in her eyes and shook her head.

"I see what you're getting at, Keesha...You grew up so fast. What colleges are you looking into? I know that Walkerville College isn't really an ideal choice."

"Well, I have a compromise, but it's still not great. Washington State University has the 4th best broadcast journalism program in the country, and it's only 5 hours away. I might not be here every day, but I could still handle our finances."

"You're handling our finances? Keesha, I...I can't believe I let this happen."

Keesha gave Grandma time to understand their situation, possibly for the first time. The overhead lamp swayed back and forth. Gran had a puzzled look on her face.

"How old am I?"

"You're 85, Grandma. And you still look as beautiful as you did at 70."

"Keesha, you were only 3 years old when I was 70. How do you remember?"

Keesha chuckled. "Okay, 75. That's when I remember you."

"Oh you were such a doll at 8. I remember you would come home and tell me all sorts of wild stories about that Ms. Frizzle!"

Keesha groaned inside. Ms. Frizzle had a tendency to come up when she didn't want it. "Grandma, we should probably get back to colleges."

"Okay, but after that, you're going to entertain an old woman's memories and tell me all about Ms. Frizzle's class again. You had some of the BEST stories!"

Keesha laughed. Ironically, her imagination was the tamest of the 8 children. For a moment, she wished for the simpler days when all she had to worry about was who stole her prize cucumber. She batted the thought away and resisted the urge to escape the task at hand. It was too important.

"Anyways, WSU is a great option for us, but I want to make sure that you'll have someone to take care of your daily needs."

"Keesha, I'm not _that_ old. I'll be about 90 when you graduate from college. I have some friends of mine who are that age right now and perfectly fine. And I'm sure Lenique wouldn't mind chipping in a little bit."

Keesha felt the strawberry preserves in her mouth go down the wrong pipe. Her _mother?_

"I *cough* I don't think *cough cough* that's a good idea."

"I know that you don't want to, but this might be the only way. Lenique is living in her own apartment and has a well-paying job that she can do from anywhere. Moving wouldn't be that hard for her."

Keesha bit into her biscuit carefully. Gran sighed.

"Tell you what: I'll give your ma a call and see if we can work out something. You don't even have to be involved."

Keesha took a long time swallowing her biscuit before she replied.

"If we do this, I'll be sure to call you every day."

"You haven't even left yet, love. Trust a woman of 85: you don't need to be thinking that far ahead."

Keesha thought that far ahead all the time, but for once, she tried to let it go. She sighed in resignation. "Keep me posted."

"Of course. Now, about Ms. Frizzle's class. You know, I remember this one kid that you always complained about. Um...the boy with the 'R' on his shirt! What was his name again?"

* * *

Ralphie's room was a disaster, just the way he liked it. Clothes covered the floor like carpet. His desk was a mess of old homework, dusty books, and college applications he hadn't started yet, all crumpled under his shiny new laptop that his Mom got him for his birthday. At least 5 identical red caps hung from his bedposts. Beneath his bed was a couple cases of beer that Ralphie hid from his mom. A hockey stick hung above his door, and posters of baseball icons hung around the walls: Hank Aaron, Ken Griffey Jr., Ichiro Suzuki, and Yogi Berra. A modest TV setup lay across from his desk. The drawers underneath it were packed with every video game console imaginable. The only ones that looked used were the XBOX and PS2.

Ralphie threw his letterman jacket and shirt on the floor, revealing his bare chest. At 6'10" and 250lbs, he was obviously an enormous man, but he carried most of his weight in his chest, rather than his belly. Underneath his skin lay a solid wall of trained muscle that Ralphie had spent the last 5 years building through workouts and an careful diet. However, he never lost that thick layer of fat that made his stomach bulge. His mother said it was hereditary, which means he got it from his deceased birth father. It gave him the appearance of a giant teddy bear, complete with a thin layer of brown chest hair. His broad, muscular shoulders sported the bruises and welts from the game, and he had several tiny scars on his body from his many years of athletics. His skin was callous around his hands, feet, and shoulders.

Ralphie threw on his science pajamas and walked over to his huge bookstand, the only piece of furniture with any organization. Instead of books, the bookshelf sported a wide variety of collectibles.

· His anime and cartoon collection. 2 shelves.

· His comic book collection. 2 shelves.

· His video game and sci-fi movie collection. 1 shelf.

· His baseball card collection. 1 shelf.

· A bunch of old action figures. Transformers, Power Rangers, and every Marvel super hero. (He preferred Marvel over DC, but he kept a Batman figure in the back anyways.)

· His baseball and football trophies from little league through high school. There were several others from different sports he'd tried over the years: lacrosse, soccer, track, swim, cycling, basketball, hockey, tae kwon do. But they took time away from the big 2. 1 shelf.

· His old glove, little league jersey, and his first baseball bat.

· A picture frame, tucked away in the far corner of the top shelf where his mom couldn't reach it, or even see it. If she found it, she would burn it.

His eyes sparkled and his lips stretched into a smile as he moved further down the bookshelf.

· His Weatherman costume.

· "The Adventures of Weatherman" comic pages drawn by Tim, laminated and framed.

· A copy of DA's physics book, with the frictionless baseball game bookmarked for reference. That book helped him pass many years of difficult science courses.

· A picture of him with Ms. Frizzle holding the Teacherathalon award.

· A vampire comic book (the one he was reading during the Parent Teacher conference).

· A replica of the air poem that Keesha and Ralphie wrote for the Walkerville Space Capsule. Ralphie couldn't find a perfect replica of the cork popper.

· A videotape of the broadcast inside his throat tissue.

· A fishing rod.

· His original red cap and green "R" shirt that he wore in Ms. Frizzle's class every day.

Ralphie took a moment to reminisce. Once he closed his eyes, it was easy to slip into the past, away from the reality of his teenage life. Before he knew it, he was once again only 4 feet tall, chubby in the middle, and swimming upstream with a pod of salmon. Then he was anchoring broadcast day, while the camera team was inside his body. Then he was flying through space, laughing as the bus pulled him along. The memories cycled through his mind in a familiar pattern. It wasn't long before the remembrance ritual was over, and he was once again 6'10", alone, in his room.

He got up with a deep sigh and walked over to his desk, where Ralphiebot's body hung in the corner. Ralphie had tried to fix it after the field trip, but he could never match his success in Humorus' workshop. But its eyes were light bulbs, so he had hung the robot up by his desk and used it as a lamp. It reminded him of Ms. Frizzle's strange skeleton in her classroom, which made him nostalgic again.

He was about to check his fantasy baseball team, but the papers underneath his laptop caught his eye. He had some really good colleges looking at him, and he really did need to make sure everything was top notch if he was going to play pro. Ralphie sighed. _Fine, Mom. You win_.

He pulled out the 7 contenders. Duke, San Diego State, Asuza Pacific, UC San Diego, UW, WSU, and Notre Dame. All interested in baseball, and 3 of them - both of the San Diegos and WSU - offering partial scholarships.

He picked up WSU. It was the easiest of the six, and in-state. He pulled out a pen and started writing in answers, trying to control his chicken scratch handwriting. He got pretty far, until it asked him to put in his GPA.

He knew what it was. He just didn't want to write it down. He put down his pen, picked up a pencil, and slowly scrawled the number on the paper.

2.1

He erased it and pushed the application out of way. His headache was killing him. He opened up his laptop and navigated to his second favorite porn site.

Someone knocked on his door. Ralphie groaned, closed his laptop, and answered the unwanted intrusion. It was Phoebe.

"Hey, beanstalk, what's up?" he asked.

"I was the best beanstalk. Listen, did you hit your head today?"

"No, why do you ask?"

"I just got a text from Keesha. She says you were limping a little after that really big tackle. You know, the one that sprained the guy's knee?"

While Ralphie was still concerned about Phoebe noticing, his heart jumped. _Keesha watched my footage closely enough to notice a limp? Oh God, what does that mean? Does she really pay attention? Does she only miss my games because of the broadcast? Does she like me?_ His mind whirled with all the possible outcomes, including a wedding and a million beautiful children. _God, I'm such a sap._

"Um, Ralphie? Earth to Ralphie? Ground Control to Major Tom?"

 _Oh right. The tackle._

"I'm fine, Pheebawino. Just a little dizzy. Nothing your cute little green head should worry about."


	4. Chapter 4: New Tennelli

_Ralphie opened his eyes to a packed baseball stadium. His fans filled every seat in the house, waving red and green signs, cheering him on. Just like in his real-life football games, his dark green jersey sported a big, red "R" on the back, with his team name "Weathermen" on the front. He was standing in his usual spot, right field, waiting for something to happen._

 _CRACK. He saw the baseball flying in his direction. On instinct, he ran straight for it, catching it with ease. Apparently, that was the third out, so his entire team ran to the dugout, ready to score some runs. As Ralphie approached his teammates, his eyes focused in on the coach, who opened his arms out for a hug._

 _"Nice catch, son."_

 _It was his dad. His REAL dad. He_ _looked almost exactly like Ralphie. He had a slightly bigger body, a slightly bigger smile, and a slightly deeper voice. His brown hair was shaggier and unkempt. He had a "Weathermen" jersey, but it had the word "Yankees" faded underneath it. His bright red cap matched Ralphie's, but he wore it with the bill facing frontwards. Most importantly, Dad also sported a big red "R" on his jersey, with the last name "Tennelli" over it._

 _Ralphie's heart soared. "Dad!"_

 _Dad wrapped his arms around him tightly, lifting him a couple inches off the ground. "Hey, little guy! How are you?"_

 _"Dude, I'm not that little anymore!" Ralphie broke the embrace, but couldn't stop smiling._

 _"Oh Jesus, you must be in that shitty teenage phase. I assume that you're now too cool to swing a bat, huh?"_

 _He quickly re-hugged his dad to score brownie points. Dad just smirked. "That's better. Ready to play some baseball?"_

 _"Can we grab some beers after this? I won't tell the other players."_

 _"Don't tell Mom either. Now get out there!"_

 _Ralphie jogged to home plate. He saw his name and image appear on the jumbo screen. The crowd was cheering as usual. He took a deep breath in, relishing this moment. He was where he belonged, at the center of his universe: home plate. The pitcher looked at him with a robotic face, then wound up for the pitch. Ralphie braced himself and started his swing as the ball left the pitcher's hand._

 _THUD. SWISH._

 _The entire baseball field shook. It was like an earthquake had tried to make the stadium bounce. Ralphie's bat swished through the air. He stumbled around, trying not to fall down. What was happening?_

 _THUD_

 _It happened again. The crowd started murmuring._

 _"Get your super suit ready, kid!" Dad called. "This game is cancelled on account of-"_

 _As if on cue, a giant T-Rex leapt over the walls and crashed into the outfield. People started screaming and running out of the stadium. The enormous lizard turned to Ralphie. It's golden eyes stared him down as it let out a huge roar._

 _For a brief moment, the entire city disappeared, and Ralphie was once again 8 years old, inside the Magic School Bus. He remembered what it felt like to cower in terror as a dinosaur tried to eat the vehicle that you were inside of. He was small, powerless, and scared out of his mind._

 _"Ralphie!"_

 _He was back in the baseball stadium. Dad's hand was resting on his shoulder._

 _"Are you just going to stand here and pussy out on me? Kick its ass!"_

 _Ralphie grinned._

 _"Shicka shicka?"_

 _Dad smiled. "Ka-Boom!"_

 _With no effort at all, Ralphie flew into the air, far above the baseball field, "The Thunderdome." From here, he could see not only the parking lot surrounding the stadium, but the entire city that he called his imaginary home: New Tennelli._

 _For a brief moment, he considered transforming himself into Weatherman, his oldest and greatest superhero. But today, he was in a different mood. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled as loud as he could. In the distance, his bright red pickup truck roared to life and sped towards him, expertly maneuvering through the parking lot on autopilot. As Ralphie leapt off hte building towards his Ford F-350, he closed his eyes and prepared for the transformation into Argon._

 _When he opened his eyes again, his arms were made of metal. The wheels of his truck were now his elbows and knees. He stood 15 feet tall and had brass knuckles, or fender knuckles, on his fists. Ralphie - or Argon - pounded his chest plate, his chassis skeleton firmly holding the red sheets in place. He grabbed the dome on his head and bent the back end of it, trying to recreate his red hat. He breathed in through his manifold and charged towards the baseball stadium, leaping over the walls and crashing onto home plate._

 _He saw Dad_ _look up at him with a big smile. Argon gave him a thumbs up with his aluminum fingers, then charged towards the T-Rex, swinging his left arm and clocking the giant lizard in the side of the face._

 _The dinosaur stumbled backwards, then recovered quickly and slammed his head into Argon's side. He hit the grass with a loud CREAK. The claws in the lizard's feet dug through his plates, and Argon felt his internal mechanisms being crushed. With an awkward lunge, he grabbed the T-Rex's tail, forcing the dinosaur off-balance. Argon quickly stood up and bent the tail in the wrong way. He heard an audible SNAP, and the T-Rex roared in pain. With a final shout, Argon raised his fist and aimed for the head._

 _"This T-Rex is about to get T-wrecked!"_

 _CRUNCH_

 _Argon's fist smashed the dinosaur's skull. The T-Rex lay lifeless, dead and defeated. Then, as all monsters do in the city of New Tennelli, the corpse melted into a puddle of black ooze, which seeped into the ground and disappeared from sight._

 _Argon closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Ralphie was in the driver's seat of his truck, in the middle of the baseball field. He let out a satisfied sigh and relished the invincibility that, even now, was quickly fading. The people started pouring onto the field to see what had happened. Ralphie began signing autographs, feigning humility. To him, it was just another day saving the world, like he was always meant to do._

 _After the crowd had died down, his dad approached him. He was still wearing his trademark red hat and Weathermen baseball jersey._

 _"Now that's what I call kicking ass!" his dad said, embracing him in a bro-hug._

 _"Oh God, yes. That was...phew! Fucking awesome! Huugh!" He pounded his chest for emphasis._

 _"So proud of you, buddy. But are you still down for beer?"_

 _BEEP BEEP BEEP. An alarm sounded throughout the entire city._ Ralphie hit the snooze button on autopilot. _He sighed._

 _"I'm out of time Dad."_

 _"Can't you stay?"_

 _"That's not how it works!"_

 _Dad sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow."_

* * *

 _BEEP BEEP, BEEP BEEP, BEEP BEEP_

 _6:00 AM. School starts at 7:28. Today is broadcast day. Come on, Keesha, get up._

Keesha turned off her alarm and crawled out of bed. Today was Friday, and Friday was broadcast day. Her bedroom, normally neat and tidy, had started to deteriorate as she spent less and less time maintaining it. Her books lay sprawled out on her desk. The cork board above her bed displayed events she couldn't make and assignments she'd barely finished. Her sliding door closet was stuffed with shirts and dresses of all shapes and sizes, with pants and undergarments filling up the drawers beneath them. Suits for the news, casual outfits for everyday school activities, formal dresses from past homecoming dances, and a well-worn, purple sweater with a silver stripe. About half of her closet was purple. She looked so good in it.

She threw on her clothes and rummaged through her desk, looking for her school materials. She barely registered the old, dusty videotape in the bottom drawer labeled "Ant Movie, 1994."

After grabbing a fruit bar and a glass of milk, Keesha closed the fridge and checked her college application statuses.

· Syracuse - still working on it

· Drake - almost finished. Just one essay question left. DUE TODAY

· University of Washington (UW) - check

· Washington State University (WSU) - application ready, but Keesha was still polishing it.

· USC - not started; probably wouldn't go even if she got accepted. Too expensive.

· Walkerville College - check, just for backup.

Keesha put her checklist back on the fridge. She checked the pill calendar. For today, 2 Rivastigmine, 1 Donapezil, and the 4 daily vitamin supplements. She placed the multicolored tablets on the table next to a bowl of dry cereal with silverware. She grabbed a sticky note and started scribbling.

"At school, be back at 5 after dance practice. You have lunch with Angela at the Pancake House at 11, and Bible Study at 7. Love you. Keesha."

Keesha brushed her teeth vigorously, making sure her pearly whites shone like diamonds. When she finished, she returned to her sit-down vanity station and started the long, arduous process of applying her facial.

She had a wide variety of makeup, most of which were modest tones only meant to accent the features that Keesha naturally had. The vanity station was decked out with small lights designed to imitate the anchor desk. Today was a broadcast day, so she pulled out her best eye shadow and made herself look like a star. Washing, foundation, concealer, eyebrows, eye shadow, eyeliner, lip liner, lipstick, mascara. Before heading out, she look one last look in the mirror to make sure she was set.

One might say that Keesha looked beautiful, or sexy. Those things were true, but that was never Keesha's intention. She intended to look professional. She stood at 5' 10" and always maintained good posture. Her poofy hair was in a bun like her time in Ms. Frizzle's class, but neater and more professional. Her purple, form-fitting dress shirt and silver undershirt complimented her cocoa skin. It covered her arms and hid the little cleavage Keesha had with modest dignity. Black slacks and a well-disguised pair of sneakers completed the outfit. Her makeup gave her eyes a smoky look, and her concealer hid any blemishes on her skin.

 _Books, cell phone, binder, purse, makeup kit, sound equipment. We're good._ She set a walking cane by the door, and tried to leave for school when she crashed into the wall. Mumbling something about echolocation, she found the door handle and walked out.

* * *

"Why not USC?" DA asked.

"Yeah," said Phoebe. "USC's got a great journalism program!"

"And according to my - sorry. USC's got the best film school in the country." DA had promised to stop saying "according to my research," after Carlos did an entire stand-up comedy routine making fun of it. It was 30 minutes long. Wanda and Ralphie had almost died of laughter.

"No worries," said Keesha as they walked through the halls of Walkerville High together. "But according to MY research, USC doesn't give out scholarships to anyone. Not unless you're Einstein, a film protégé, or a football champ. It's not like I'll make it in anyways."

"Yeah, but come on Keesha, in-state? You know you're better than that! You even know more about journalism than I do, and I took a course!"

"Thanks DA, I'm glad I can top you in at least one thing," Keesha mumbled. Despite her sarcasm, it was really nice to hear some positive reinforcement from the school's guaranteed valedictorian. If DA believed Keesha was ready for USC, then she was ready for USC. WSU would be a piece of cake.

"Look, we'll talk about it later," she said. "I need to finish my Drake application during lunch hour."

"I thought you did that last night?" Phoebe asked with a look of unneeded concern.

"Yeah, along with finishing 2 news packages for my classmates. So no, Drake didn't happen." Keesha approached her locker and punched in the combination.

At least 25 cucumbers tumbled out of her locker into the hallway.

"CARLOS! CARLOS YOU SONOFABITCH!"

She heard Carlos' laugh and Wanda's cackle down the hall, along with a high five. "Never gets old!" Wanda yelled.

"Let it go, Keesha," said DA as they started picking up the cucumbers. "The Neanderthals can goof off all they want." Her giggles betrayed her arrogant comments.

"Oh really, DA? Entertained by his tricks too?"

At that point, DA almost tripped.

"Um, uh, I forgot to ask Mr. Buchli about the test next week! I'll see you guys at lunch, okay? I gotta go!" She took off down the hallway without looking back.

"Come on," said Phoebe, tugging on Keesha's arm. "Let's just get some food besides cucumbers. I prefer pickles anyways."

Keesha snorted. "Smart-aleck."

Just then, her phone vibrated. So did Phoebe's.

 **Tim:** Meet by the music hall 4 lunch. Ralphies here

 **Wanda:** Abut F time

 **Arnold:** F isn't a word.

Keesha closed her phone with a loud _clap_. Phoebe looked at her with a mischievous grin. "You still think you're going to be able to get that application done, _Keesh_?" she asked in her deceptively innocent tone.

Keesha scoffed. "I'll be just fine."

* * *

The Magic School Bus crew was quieter than one might expect. Everyone did their own thing. It wasn't because they didn't like each other. It was just difficult to find something to talk about that included everyone. All 8, or now 7, kids joined different clubs, hung out with different social groups, and loved different activities. Keesha wanted to talk to them about the things she was passionate about, but none of them cared about the news like she did. Sure, they all watched her broadcasts, but they couldn't give her any feedback besides "good job" and "way to go."

Carlos was texting someone, which was unusual for him. Normally, he was trying to talk to DA and failing miserably. His trumpet case and backpack lay in a pile next to him on the grass. He wore a navy zipper sweater every day, an upgrade from his enormous cobalt sweater in the Friz's class. He was the best in the band, and composed his own music in his free time. He said he'd been working on some sort of special song for the group, but he refused to give any details.

Wanda was also texting someone, but this was normal for Wanda. She was so extroverted it hurt, and she could always start a great conversation. Unfortunately, she never did, opting for communicating through texting and Myspace. She never pried herself away from the screen. For someone who was the captain of the flag team and a third degree black belt in tae kwon do, her mouth was the one part of her body that she didn't exercise.

Arnold was sitting next to Phoebe, being all smoochy-smoochy and adorable in the throes of new love. Arnold was only 5' 7", though his bushy, orange hair gave him an extra two inches. He hadn't changed much since Ms. Frizzle's class, besides expanding his wardrobe to include all sorts of orange garments. He'd also opted for a sleeker pair of rectangular glasses that reminded Keesha of Janet's back in the third grade. It sometimes unnerved her, but everyone knew the difference between Arnold and the Queen of Walkerville High.

The couple was discussing their after-school schedules and figuring out when they could hang together. Besides Arnold's debate team and Phoebe's volunteer work, they were inseparable. Keesha knew it would fade away with time, but she envied their incredible chemistry...just a little.

DA's spot was empty. She was always at least 5 minutes late to lunch because she talked with her physics teacher after class. She poured her work into physics and intended to pursue it as her college major. It was all she talked about at lunch, besides astronomy. Most of the crew just waited for Carlos to derail her monologues in the most spectacular of ways. If she wasn't lecturing, she was busy with homework on her portable laptop, which had replaced the book bag as her new source of infinite knowledge.

Tim was drawing. He was always drawing. He never stopped drawing. He shared almost no interests with the crew. No one else enjoyed painting, no one listened to his indie music, no one hung out with his friends at all. He was an island unto himself. But Keesha knew why he stayed. It was the same reason she stayed.

Keesha focused on her application for Drake. She was 300 words away from completing the last essay question, which she needed to put in the mail after school. She still wanted to leave some time for polishing during her news class as well, so she had to finish the rough draft now. She steeled her mind, refusing to lose focus for anything. And that included the 1 person that didn't even bother to show up most of the time.

* * *

Ralphie jogged around the music building with a spring in his step and a big smile on his face. He hadn't hung out with his _real_ friends in a month. He had a lot of catching up to do. So much had happened in his life: the Mariners sucking ass this season, his last push for the State Championship game, and best of all, his verbal agreement with Duke! Not to mention that their running back had pulled off the sickest touchdown last week. It was so awesome; Ralphie couldn't stop talking about it, or even thinking about it.

He was out in the school boonies, a good 5 minute walk away from the lunchroom and the gang's usual hangout spot. He didn't like pulling them way out here, but he had to avoid his football buddies and queen bitch Janet if he was going to be...well, himself.

He recognized everyone from 100 feet off. Arnold and Phoebe were being all goody-goody in a way that made him lose his appetite. Tim was drawing as usual. He could already hear their discussion.

"Why are we sitting here again?" _That has to be Arnold._

"Because Ralphie can hang out with us today!" _Hell yeah, Carlos!_

"Can someone please tell him not to bother me? I have an application for Drake to write and I really don't need his attention." _Oh god, this bitch..._

He slowed to a walk and tried to get a glimpse of Keesha without the group seeing him. There she was: sitting on the steps, her back leaning against the metal railing, writing something on a packet of paper. Her naturally unruly hair was tied up in a ponytail/bun, and she wore a sleek, violet V-neck with black slacks. He wondered what she looked like underneath that outfit.

He stepped back and hid behind the music building, giving himself a moment to breath. Several, no, dozens, no, _hundreds_ of memories bubbled up to the surface of his thoughts. His stomach started tying itself up in knots of the giddy variety. Those knots then began to form their own knots of a more sinister type. After a decade of friendship, passive-aggressive drama, and all-out fights, he didn't know how to feel about her anymore.

He shook his head violently, letting his brain rattle around in his skull. _Snap out of it! This is your one chance to hang out with your friends. Chill the fuck out and stop being such a weasely wimp._ He took a deep breath, murdered all the butterflies in his stomach with metaphorical insect repellant, and stepped out from behind the music building.


	5. Chapter 5: The Deusch-Bag

Q: Discuss an accomplishment or event, formal or informal, that marked your transition from childhood to adulthood.

Keesha knew the perfect answer.

A: As an African-American woman who was raised by my grandmother, I knew that my family was different from a very young age. However, I never felt uncomfortable with my living situation until late middle school. When I was little, my grandmother told me that there were lots of people like me, raised outside of a normal nuclear family, and I believed her completely.

"Hey guys!" _Oh no, that's gotta be -_

"RALPHIE!" cried Carlos.

Keesha looked up and immediately looked back down, watching Ralphie with her peripheral vision. It was the big man himself, in all of his deusch-bag glory, wearing his deusch-bag letterman jacket with his deusch-bag backwards cap. Phoebe got up from the circle and opened her arms for a hug. Ralphie grabbed her tightly, lifting her off the ground.

"Mmmf, Rllphie, yurr crushhng mmm!"

Keesha tried to ignore the chorus of voices and high-fives around her, but she couldn't help chuckling. She could already hear Ralphie start to rave about his last game.

"So the score was 18-14, and it was what, 3rd quarter? I know, not that big of a rush, but just hold on; it gets better. I promise. Hey, there you are, DA! Just in time for the most epic touchdown ever."

DA was finally here. She made eye contact with Keesha as she opened her lunchbox. They shared a mutual moment of not caring about football. Ralphie was completely oblivious.

"So I see Harry make eye contact with one of his wide receivers, before he starts the play. And I'm thinking 'ah, he's an idiot, can't he see the defense is totally ready to block that play?' But I swear to god, the second they yelled 'HIKE...'"

Keesha returned to her essay. "...When I told my science teacher that my project would be late due to a family emergency, he did not believe me. He accused me of being lazy and -"

"TO THE 40, TO THE 30, TO THE 20, TOUCHDOWN!" Ralphie fell backwards, spreading his arms on the grass. "It was SO AWESOME!"

Keesha put down her packet and sighed loudly in exasperation. _25 minutes. Focus. Pretend he's a stage manager and just tune him out._

"Wait wait, let me guess," Carlos jumped in. "Then, you hoisted him up on your shoulders and started shouting 'Rudy! Rudy! Rudy!'"

"Ah, I totally should've. That would've been SICK."

"Who's Rudy?" asked Arnold, sipping on his hot cocoa.

Ralphie face-palmed. "You've never seen 'Rudy'? What are you, a nerd?"

DA put her hands on her hips and gave Ralphie the stink-eye. He pretended to ignore her.

"Hey," Carlos asked. "How'd you manage to escape Madam Psychobitch and her crew? No offense, Arn."

Ralphie laughed and slung his shoulder around Carlos like a 1920s mob boss. "You see Carlos, the trick is to be famous for more than just one thing." He gave Carlos a squeeze, then released his grip. "All I have to do is wait for PE in second period, then tell Mr. Richards, 'I think I'm gonna be sick.'" He used his "sick" voice that he'd perfected in Ms. Frizzle's class.

Keesha was back in the zone. "...I work as a dance instructor, take care of my grandmother's medications, handle the family finances, and still pass my classes as best I can. Although my GPA has suffered, I have never doubted my abilities to survive in the real world. I hope you will not doubt me either."

 _Done! And just under 300 words._ She quickly reviewed her short answer. It wasn't bad, and had the extra bonus of explaining why her 2.8 GPA wasn't stellar. Still, it sounded a bit...preachy. She wondered if the white admissions board would take it the wrong way.

"Hey Tim," she asked. "You mind reviewing this last one for me? I need a second opinion."

Tim gladly took her paper and started reviewing it. Keesha noticed that everyone was looking at her application, especially DA. She glanced at Keesha with a puzzled expression, almost as if to say "why didn't you let _me_ review it?"

Tim handed it back. "That's really compelling, Keesha. It could use a little bit of fine tuning, but overall, good job. Just get rid of the last sentence and you'll be set."

Keesha beamed. "Thanks!" She quickly erased the last sentence and tried to think of a better zinger.

"Can I have a look?" asked DA, eager to share some of her supposedly infinite wisdom.

"Yeah," said Phoebe. "What's the harm in a few extra eyes? I can help!"

Keesha clung to her application and shuffled away from the curious eyes. She didn't have the time for more feedback, but she also didn't want them to know about her situation with Gran. They just...they just wouldn't understand.

"I think I'm good, thanks," she said. "I uh, need to get this finished by lunch."

Suddenly, she felt the paper fly out of her hands. She turned around. Wanda had snuck up behind her.

"Here DA. Knock yourself out." Wanda handed over the packet without even looking away from her phone. Ralphie quickly clambered over to DA's shoulder to take a look, along with Phoebe and Arnold. All Keesha could do was watch and wait for her friends to react to the struggle that was her life.

* * *

Ralphie had to reposition DA's shoulder to get a good look at the application paper.

Q: Discuss an accomplishment or event, formal or informal, that marked your transition from childhood to adulthood.

A: As an African-American woman who was raised by my grandmother, I knew that my family was different from a very young age. However, I never felt uncomfortable with my living situation until late middle school. When I was little, my grandmother told me that there were lots of people like me, raised outside of a normal nuclear family, and I believed her completely. I was also blessed with a good network of families and friends that accepted me for who I was and didn't question my lack of a mother or a father."

 _Hey, she's talking about us! We're the best!_

"I didn't feel 'different' because of my skin color or lifestyle, but because of my strength and ambitious personality. 'Unique' would be a better way to describe it."

"However, that changed when my grandmother, my only caretaker, began to decline in mental health around the 8th grade. I was forced to start taking care of her at a time when most children do not even have to take care of themselves."

 _Dude, at 13, I was still trying to figure out why Janet's tight pants made my own pants equally tight._

"When I had to tell my science teacher that my project would be late due to a family emergency, he did not believe me. He accused me of being lazy and making up excuses. That was the first day that I felt the need to step up and exceed the expectations that my teachers had of children. I realized I had to grow up faster than my friends."

 _...dude..._

"Ever since that day, I have been forced to play the role of parent and the role of student, without letting either slip. I have never let anyone look down on me because of my race or make assumptions about my 'lazy' personality. In fact, I am quite the opposite of lazy. I have been an adult for 5 years now. I work as a dance instructor, take care of my grandmother's medications, handle the family finances, and still pass my classes as best I can. Although my GPA has suffered, I have never doubted my abilities to survive in the real world."

"Damn, Keesh," Ralphie murmured, almost to himself. He had no idea that she was taking care of Gran. It only made him admire her more, but he also felt a little bad.

DA was better at masking her similar reaction. "Yeah, Keesha...it was really well written! Good grammar, logical and concise. Well done."

Keesha snatched her application back. "Thanks," she said curtly. Her eyes glared at Wanda, who didn't notice.

Ralphie started to play with his hat. His letterman jacket felt uncomfortably hot. He couldn't think of anything to say. The world that Keesha spoke of was just so...foreign. He had wanted to know more about her, but now that he knew, it just made things worse. _No wonder she stopped coming to my games. She really did have more important things to do. Why didn't she tell us? How am I supposed to...she's...fuck, fuck...oh god, it's happening again._

His hand clenched into a tight fist. His head felt like a cork popper: too much pressure and he would explode. The chatter of his friends faded into the background. He'd been experiencing brain freezes more and more often. It was a special kind of torture too abstract to put into words, and too vague to be a mental illness. Despite all of this, Ralphie couldn't think straight when he experienced what he called "The Fog."

Just like a real fog, where you can only see your own hand in front of your face, he could only think about his own problems. No one else mattered. He also couldn't hold his train of thought for more than a few words before he broke down, just like you can't follow a trail too far before you get lost in a real fog.

"She's fine guys," Tim's calm voice snapped Ralphie out of his haze for a brief moment. "She's handled it so far. If she needs something, she can always ask for help."

Ralphie took the opportunity to drive the conversation away from Keesha. Anything to make the Fog go away. He chuckled a bit too loudly and bit into his Mallowblaster. "Yeah guys, no one's life is all sunshine and rainbows, right?" he said with his mouth half-full. "Except for me of course. I'm already golden."

Phoebe gasped in excitement. "You got your NLI signed?"

He chuckled. "No, but it's pretty much in the bag. My career at Duke is set." He leaned back on the wall of the music building, enjoying his lack of fucks about college.

"What about admissions? Your academics?" asked DA.

Ralphie threw up his hands in mock fear. "Oh no, what about them?"

"You do still have to pass them, right?" Arnold pressed.

Ralphie sighed. "Yeah, okay! If I fail admissions, I don't get in! Rain on my parade, why don't ya?"

Wanda snorted. "Well, you're pretty much fucked. What's your GPA, 1.5?"

"2.1" Carlos corrected.

"CARLOS!" yelled Ralphie. "I worked hard for that 2.1! Don't give me that look, DA!" He saw DA shake her head in the most condescending manner.

"Well yeah, it's better than a 1.5!" replied Carlos. "Besides, you're too awesome to _strike out_ with Duke!"

"CARLOS!" This time, everyone chimed in.

"Don't encourage him," said Keesha. "The worst can always happen. He should be prepared." Her voice stung with that trademark realism that Ralphie admired and hated at the same time.

"Nah, I'm fine. 'R' is a hot commodity and they know it." He gorilla-punched his chest for emphasis.

"Oh really? You're going to risk your 0.5 percent chance of going pro like that? You must really care about your career _so_ much."

 _0.5 PERCENT?!_ Ralphie choked on his sandwich a little. "Y-you just made that number up!"

"Nope. 5.6 percent of high school baseball seniors go to the NCAA. And of those, 10.1 percent go pro. You have a 0.5 percent chance of your dream coming true. Good luck buddy."

 _Is it just me, or did Keesha actually research my chances of getting into the majors?_

As if he was reading Ralphie's thoughts, Carlos said "Wow, Keesha. Is that according to DA's research?"

"No, but she's correct," said DA, who was typing on her laptop. "According to this website, those are the percentages."

Ralphie knew that he was chasing a dream, but the "struggle" to make it big had never felt like a major obstacle. In fact, he had deliberately avoided looking up these statistics because he didn't want to know.

"Hey Keesh, you know what has a lower than .5 percent chance of happening in real life?"

"What?" she replied curtly.

"Going inside your friend's digestive system. But we're all still here, right?"

Arnold cringed, but everyone else smiled in agreement.

"Or seeing a supernova at close range!" said DA.

"Or being turned into light," said Phoebe.

"Or standing on the surface of Pluto," said Arnold. "And removing your helmet. And SURVIVING!"

"THAT'S RIGHT!" Ralphie yelled. His friends' support hyped him up, making him feel invincible once again. "So what now, Keesh? You still think I can't make it?"

* * *

 _Keesha looked at him with smug defiance. "Well, I still think you're just blowing smoke out your ass."_

 _"Careful what you say. I can actually do that." He lifted up on of his butt-cheeks to demonstrate._

 _"Oh please. Fart jokes are the lowest form of humor."_

 _He laughed. "Okay okay, how about this: I will put my money where my mouth is and make you a bet."_

 _"Still behaving like you're 12. And no way. Last time we made a bet, your robot almost destroyed the Bus."_

 _"What? You're too chicken to play ball with the king of Walkerville? Bawk-bawk!" He made chicken noises while stupidly flapping his arms._

 _"You're not king of anything! And fine, if it'll make you stop being a jackass. What's your wager?" Keesha was actually giving him eye contact, which meant that she was secretly enjoying this. Finally._

* * *

But instead of taking him up on the challenge, Keesha looked at her watch, then put her packet of paper in her backpack. She didn't bother to look at him.

"Whatever. Have fun at your game tonight."

The bell rung. She got up and started making her way to the school commons. Ralphie felt like his heart was being stabbed with needles. His brain was starting to grind to a halt again. Everything was so _wrong_. _Do we even have anything in common anymore? Why do you have to be so fucking pathetic around her? God, you're such a wo-_

"Hey buddy." Carlos interrupted his mental rage. "You got your copy of Halo 2 yet? I'm free after school."

"Hell yeah!" _Thank God, a distraction._

* * *

After school, Keesha drove home to submit the application to Drake in the mail, then waited until the mail truck picked it up out of paranoia. Then it was dancing lessons for 2 hours (she was the teacher), and then she had to travel back to the newsroom to start on the broadcast. She hated having it right after dance, since that meant she was sweaty and had to apply an entirely new layer of makeup just to look decent. She grumbled complaints as she applied her foundation in the bathroom. Her purse vibrated. She fished it out of her pocket and checked the caller ID.

It was Lenique Franklin.

She froze. Never in her entire life had Lenique called her directly. It was always through Gran's phone, or e-mail. Plus, Gran said that Keesha wouldn't have to be involved in the whole caretaker business, so there was no reason for this call. She let the phone go to voicemail. There was no reason to answer.

 _Come on Keesha. You don't know why she was calling. It could be nothing. She could have butt-dialed you. It's probably - frack!_ Her fingers slipped and her eyeliner made a big, black stroke across her cheek. She had to start over.

The bathroom door opened. "Keesha? What are you doing here?" It was Queen Janet Perlstein, applying her own facial.

"Getting ready, what else?"

"Wow, _someone's_ a little overconfident. What, here to make sure the rest of us don't fuck up your precious program?"

Keesha was not in the mood for Janet's attitude. "Spit it out! What do you want?!"

Janet jumped, dropping her compact on the floor. "Jesus! I- I just - it's Amber's week, alright?"

Keesha scoffed. She attended every newscast regardless of whether it was her week as anchor. There were certain problems that only she knew how to fix. But today, if they didn't want her there, it would be their loss. She threw her makeup into her bag and stormed out of the bathroom, deliberately ramming her shoulder into Janet.

There was no room like the newsroom. It was much larger than most classrooms, yet it felt cramped because of all the clutter. A giant control panel packed with monitors covered an entire wall, while the others walls sported rows of computers. Papers filled with past broadcast images, rundowns and articles covered the empty space, making the place look like an journalism exhibit. One door led to the school hallway; another door led to the tiny sound stage where they actually filmed the show.

Keesha pushed open the door to the newsroom with the force of a train. "Evans!" she barked.

Mr. Evans, thin, Asian man with glasses and a bad case of hypertension, whipped around from his swivel chair. "Keesha, for goodness sakes. What's on your face?"

She'd forgotten to remove the eyeliner smudge in the mirror. She dismissed Evans' comment with the wave of her hand. "It's nothing. Did we already run through everything?"

"Yeah, just calm down!"

Keesha ignored him and marched to the computer to check the rundown. Everything looked like it was in order. Jacob and Amy were already in their positions at the anchor desk.

"Keesh, you feeling alright?" It was Jack, the sports reporter. He had his bags packed, ready to leave to report the football game.

She heard the stage manager mutter her name into the microphone. She looked at the anchor screen. Jacob and Amy were rolling their eyes, probably at the fact that Keesha was trying to help. _Those ungrateful little brats!_

"Okay, we're good. I'm going home." She left without saying goodbye to anyone. The rain outside made her even more miserable as she hopped into her car. She turned on the engine and was about to drive off, but she stopped.

 _You have a job to do._

She sighed in resignation. She pulled her makeup kit out of her backpack and reapplied her facial, removing the awful smudge. She redid her wet hair as best she could, grabbed her umbrella, and walked back to school with a new, calm confidence.

When she opened the door for the second time, the newscast had already started. Mr. Evans saw her first. He had his headset on, but he raised his eyebrow, as if to say "you okay?"

Keesha nodded. Their silent conversation was cut off when the Technical Director, Amy, said "oh no."

Keesha looked at the screen. It was Amy's package. The graphics weren't appearing on the screen. Which meant that when a person was talking, the text saying who that person was refused to show. Amy was panicking, looking at the myriad of buttons before her, trying to see which one would fix her mistake.

Keesha leapt into action.

"Amy, just keep doing what you're doing; I can fix this. Andy, step aside, I gotta change something."

Andy scooted his chair back and let Keesha have full control of the computer. She took a closer look at the rundown; a timed list of every single piece of media that was supposed to go up for the news show, from graphics, to packages, to the cameras. Amy had forgotten to tell the computer when her graphics were supposed to come in, so they just weren't showing up, period.

Over the course of 2 minutes, Keesha manually cued the 3 text graphics to appear at the right time, using nothing but gut instinct. No one would even notice what was wrong. When the package was over, she handed the computer back to Andy.

Amy looked over her shoulder to give Keesha an appreciative nod. Mr. Evans did the same. Keesha just nodded back. She knew that would be the only thanks she got for saving the show. She took her seat at the back of the classroom and watched everyone else do their thing, ready to jump back in at the slightest problem.

* * *

 **This concludes Act 1 of 6.**


	6. Chapter 6: Bad Habits

**November**

Today's news class was like any other. Students were writing and recording packages, making phone calls to interview subjects, and editing their footage. Keesha was busy writing a script for a fluff piece she didn't care about.

"Attention everyone." Mr. Evans silenced everyone. "I just want to let you know that my friend, Professor Hindman, will be visiting us in mid-December. He's a professor from WSU, so I expect all of you to be on your best behavior. If you have any projects that you want to pass by for his review, I'd be more than happy to let him critique your work. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but he's also a member of the admissions board at WSU. I'm telling you this now so that you can prepare."

 _Having a WSU professor look at my work?_ This was a golden opportunity for her budding journalism career. She made a mental note to check the feeds for breaking stories between now and mid-December. Anything that might make an amazing hard news package. She would need all the help to get into WSU's news program. Maybe she could even squeeze a scholarship from it.

The rest of the school day passed by uneventfully, and before long, the last bell rung. The other students socialized and texted each other, hoping to hang out and do whatever normal high school kids do. Keesha weaved through the crowd like she was invisible. Unlike everyone else at Walkerville high, her day was far from over.

First, phone calls. Second, grocery shopping. Third, teaching dance. Fourth, picking up Gran to take her to Bible study. It was 6PM when Keesha hugged her grandmother goodbye, so there was plenty of time to finish her chemistry homework. She was about to head home and get started when her phone buzzed.

 **Janet:** Forgot to add dissolves on graphics. FYI, sorry. XD.

Keesha groaned.

 **Keesha:** It's not that hard to fix.

 **Janet:** Party tonight. I'll fix it tomorrow.

Keesha knew that Janet wouldn't fix it tomorrow. She drove back to the school to fix the graphics herself. By the time she returned home, it was midnight.

School would start in 6 hours, and she still had about 50 problems. She sighed in resignation, made herself some coffee, cracked open a new box of pencils, and returned to the world of molecules and compounds.

She remembered handling sugar molecules in the tub of water. Back then, something as complex as crystallization seemed like such a simple concept. Now, it was all just numbers, letters, grams, and moles. _Shouldn't the rules that govern the universe be easier to understand than this?_

After several hours of painful calculations, she finished the last problem. She leaned back in her chair and breathed deeply, satisfied with a long day's work. She tucked herself in, adjusted her pillow, and -

 _BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP._

It was 6 AM.

Time to get ready for school.

* * *

Keesha walked out of the school to her car at a slow pace. The other students socialized and texted each other, hoping to hang out and do whatever normal high school kids do. She weaved through them like she was invisible. Unlike everyone else at Walkerville high, she was TIRED.

She lazily closed the door to her house and plopped herself on the couch. She wanted to sleep so badly. She pulled out her phone and started to make her daily calls, but the phone rang on its own. She checked the caller ID.

It was Lenique.

 _Again?_ It couldn't just be an accident now. Lenique definitely wanted to talk to her. But for what?

She let the phone ring 4 times before she answered, leaving the line silent on purpose. From the other end, she heard a bright, sassy black voice.

"Hello?"

Chills ran down her spine. The voice was so familiar, even though she could count the number of times she'd heard it on her hands.

"Keesha baby? Y'there? Hello?"

She didn't know what to say. She felt like she was opening Pandora's Box: even one word into the telephone would unleash the monster inside.

 _Click._ Lenique hung up.

Keesha dropped the phone and lied down on the couch. _What could she have wanted? Is there something she doesn't want Gran to know? Why can't she just leave me alone?_

She barely knew anything about her mother, so she had no idea what to expect. They had spoken to each other before, but it was so rare. She only called once every 2 years. Keesha never got to speak for more than 3 minutes before Lenique asked her to put Gran back on.

Would Mom be kind? Was there a reason that she abandoned her for so long? Or was she more like an evil step-mother, without the step? She shut her eyes. She didn't want to think about it, and she was so sleepy. Very...very...sleepy...

* * *

Ralphie threw his baseball jersey and cleats into his stuffed locker and pulled out his football jersey and other cleats. He hated it when baseball and football overlapped practices. He felt like he was shirking his job as captain for both sports. Football practice was already half over. He still took a moment to nurse a scrape on his left forearm with some Neosporin and a bandage. Thankfully, it wasn't anything serious.

The door to the men's locker room opened. It was #31 Brett.

"Hey, R." His voice was meek and quiet. "Coach, uh, could really use you. Um, when do you think you'll be ready?"

Ralphie loved it when his teammates were nervous in his presence. "I'll be out in a few. Baseball was rough today." It was true; he was pretty beat up after practicing slides. The scrape on his forearm was the worst of many.

#31 Brett disappeared as quickly as he had entered. 5 minutes later, Ralphie was on the football field in full gear. He saw Coach Teller approach him while QB Harry was drilling the team.

"About time you showed up," Teller said with a smile. "How was baseball?"

"Piece of cake," Ralphie lied. "At this point, it's really just maintenance until college," He hoped that Coach could see his smirk through the helmet bars.

"I'm glad to hear that, cause I need your help for today's practice."

"Anything you need."

"I'm doing a special version of 'King of the Hill.' The other players don't know how to deal with an opponent that's bigger than them. So we're gonna fix that today. You take defense, Harry takes offense."

"King of the Hill" was a simple exercise: two guys stand on a large padded mat. When the whistle blows, they collide and try to force the each other off. Normally, you made people with similar body builds compete, but as Teller said, today was special.

"Yeah, no problem," Ralphie said. "You want me to go easy on them?"

"Of course, but still make them work for it. Go warm up."

 _BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._

Ralphie took hit after hit for the next 15 minutes as player after player tried to knock him off the padded mat. Sometimes they succeeded, sometimes they didn't. He actually enjoyed it quite a bit; he yelled at his teammates to push harder. If they did, he'd let them win. If not, he pushed them back down.

He smiled as Brett hopped onto the mat. He was small, only 5' 8" tall, and one of the few people on his team that Ralphie knew by name, not by number. He could tell that Brett had joined the team out of peer pressure to be cool, not out of a love for the sport. He was in Ralphie's grade, but had always been the pushover of the cool kids. Ralphie felt bad for him. He understood the pressure.

"You ready?" he murmured. Brett nodded, but his heart wasn't in it. His legs were bent wrong and he was standing way too high. He was just waiting to be crushed.

Ralphie stood up and walked over to the small fry. "You're standing too tall. Take a wider stance, lower your center of gravity." He pushed Brett's legs into the correct position.

"R, what are you doing? You're holding up the line!" QB Harry yelled from across the field.

"My job, asshat!" Ralphie yelled back. He redirected his attention to Brett. "Don't just push me backwards. Push me sideways, like you're trying to get past me. In the game, you're doing exactly that. And use your head. Literally, use your head."

Brett nodded. Ralphie returned to his normal spot and took his own stance. "READY!" he yelled.

"HIKE!"

Brett's legs exploded as he dove headfirst into Ralphie's chest. Ralphie steeled his legs and pushed back just enough to make Brett work for it.

"C'mon, is that all you've got?" he growled into Brett's helmet. The kid grunted in response, and pushed even harder. Ralphie took a step back to counter. He could feel Brett trying to push him sideways, just like he was supposed to.

"Nnnnggaaahh!" Brett yelled, redoubling his efforts. Ralphie smiled, that was his cue. He fell backwards onto the mat with a loud _THUD._ His brain rattled around in his head, nauseating him slightly. Brett stood tall on the mat, "victorious," his hands in the air. Through the bars in his helmet, he was smiling.

Ralphie gave him a thumbs-up while he took a moment to breathe. _Good job, shrimp._

By the end of the drill, Ralphie's lungs felt bruised and battered, but he ignored it to the best of his ability. He high-fived the players who had put in the extra effort like Brett as he made his way to the bench to sit down. His mouth felt disgustingly dry.

"Okay everyone," called Coach Teller. "Next up is bags."

 _Oh, fuck me._ Bag work was excellent training for linebackers like Ralphie, so he couldn't pass up the exercise. He turned away from the water fountain and made his way to the other side of the field, where the dummy obstacles were waiting. This exercise was also simple: jump over the body dummies while keeping your shoulders facing 90 degrees to the left. He'd done this a million times. He just wished that it wasn't on the same day that Teller made him a punching bag for the entire defense.

As Ralphie started hopping over bags, his headache grew worse and worse. It wasn't the mental torture of the Fog, but a physical strain in his brain. He could barely concentrate on the exercise. After about 5 minutes, he desperately needed a break.

"Hey Coach?" he called as he left the field.

"What's up?"

"You mind if I leave a little early?"

"What's wrong? Are you injured?"

"I uh, I have a really bad headache."

Coach Teller cocked his eyebrow in a "c'mon, really?" kind of way.

 _Great, the one time I'm not lying_. Ralphie cursed under his breath.

"Take a minute on the bench," said Teller. "I know that last exercise was tough, but I expect more out of you. You're defensive captain. Act like it."

Ralphie moseyed over to the water jug, feeling the eyes of his teammates on him. He fished his red cap out of his duffle bag and put it on. The cool, crisp air helped clear his head, but the dull ache wouldn't completely go away. It probably wouldn't anytime soon.

He saw Brett's number, #31, head towards him. The kid took off his helmet, revealing a latino face that reminded him of Carlos.

"Hey, you okay? I know that baseball was rough."

 _Crap, I told Brett the truth_. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's nothing."

"Hey #31!" QB Harry yelled from across the field. "Stop talking to the pussy and get back to training!"

"Screw you, Harry!" Ralphie yelled. Still, he was right; he had to set an example. He gulped down the last of his water, threw his cap back in his bag, and put his stuffy helmet back on. He'd just have to push through his headache.

"Come on Brett, let's go."

"Whatever you say, Coach."

 _He called me Coach! BEST DAY EVER!_

* * *

Keesha woke up to a soft blanket covering her face. The sweet smell of sizzling pork wafted up her nose. Keesha pulled the blanket off her face to see Gran cooking. She was wearing the same purple dress she'd worn to the PTA conference back in Ms. Frizzle's class. She held the pan of pork chops with one hand, but leaned against the table as if struggling to keep her balance.

"Good afternoon dear. Did you sleep well?" Gran stood up a little straighter.

"Mmmmmmm."

"I'll let you rest, but I need to talk with you after dinner. It's important."

Keesha grunted an acknowledgment before she lost consciousness again.

Sometime later, Gran said the Lord's Prayer and Keesha wolfed down her pork chops and gravy, with mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Gran?"

Grandma swallowed the last mouthful of rice. "I spoke to Lenique."

Keesha stopped eating. She wanted to find out Lenique's agenda. "What'd she say?"

"Well, there's some good news, and some bad news. The good news is, Lenique says that she would be more than happy to care of me while you're at college."

"Okay..." Keesha sense a "but."

"But she won't be able to move up here for the job. As it turns out, she changed careers about 10 years ago and is a successful movie producer."

She furrowed her eyebrows and picked at her food. "It's odd that she didn't inform you about her new job until now."

"Well, she's a very busy woman. You wouldn't know this, but Lenique has an awful track record about keeping people up to date."

 _Makes perfect sense._ "Makes you wonder how she got successful as a producer."

Gran chuckled. "Well, we all have to make up for our shortcomings eventually."

"Anyways..." Keesha folded her arms on the table, waiting for her the inevitable.

"Anyways, I would have to move down there with her."

"No, that's not an option."

"Honey, I've thought this through. It's good for everyone!"

"How? Tell me how this is good for you!"

"It's not about what's good for me, dear. It's -

"I thought you said it was good for _everyone_."

"Do NOT interrupt me, child!"

Keesha bit her tongue, respecting the age-old household rule: everyone gets to say their full argument without interruption. Gran took a deep breath.

"Let me put this in terms you understand. Let's get the facts. First, if you don't have to take care of me, you can go to whatever college you want without any fear for my safety. Second, Lenique has plenty of money, so she'll be able to take care of any unexpected medical conditions. You can't deny those things dear."

Keesha sat for a moment, carefully preparing her counter-argument.

"Okay," she said, "so both of those things are true. But first, Lenique doesn't have to be taking care of you to provide money for any 'unexpected medical conditions.' That can be handled remotely. And secondly, I'm already shooting for WSU, which may I remind you is only 5 hours away. It's not a big move, and with your Social Security check, we could rent out a place."

"You don't even know how much I get a month!"

"I figured it out as I was doing our finances. You earn $4,350 a month."

"...You shouldn't know that."

"Don't try and pull a fourth amendment on me. That's only for the government. It's a fact, so I can use it." She had no idea if that was how the fourth amendment worked, but she would use it for her argument anyways.

"Look," she continued, "you know that I can take care of you just as well as she can. I just need some time to work the books and make sure that our living conditions can be set up correctly. Your Social Security check should be able to provide for your end. I can get a part time job, and maybe-"

"Keesha..."

"Now you're interrupting ME!"

"I know, but you don't have to make point. I know that you can handle it."

"Okay then. That's my argument.

"And I accept your argument. I know what you can do child, cause in case you forgot, I raised you. I know that you could probably handle this if you absolutely had to."

"Thanks."

"Well, I'm not going to let you, so don't thank me."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Gran rested her arms on the table and silently prayed for a brief moment. "This isn't about whether you're able to handle a responsibility that big. You know that the Franklin family has been trapped in a cycle for over a hundred years."

"What? How does dating boys and getting pregnant connect to your well-being!"

"It's not about me child. It's about your college! It's about giving you the chance to actually live! The only reason that Lenique is a successful producer is because-"

Keesha knew how that sentence ended.

After a pause, Gran started speaking again, slowly and carefully. "I offered to take you in because I wanted to give Lenique the time to make a career." She sighed. "I never told you this baby, but Lenique _really_ was not ready to be a Mom when she had you."

"Yeah, I kind of already figured that out."

No one spoke for a little bit. Finally, Gran took a deep breath.

"Look, the point is that you need to take care of yourself before you start taking care of other people."

"That's what Lenique did, all right."

"Yes, I suppose she did," said Gran. "But now, she's all set up, and it's about time she started taking care of us!"

"She called me today."

"Okay..." Gran's eyes narrowed into slits. "That's...not like her."

"I didn't answer it. Or I did, but I didn't say nothing. She hung up after a bit."

"Hmmm..." Gran furrowed her eyebrows and raised a wrinkled hand to her mouth. She was thinking.

"You should talk to her," she said. "It's probably important. And she's your ma."

Keesha disagreed, but said nothing. She swallowed her last pork chop and tried to get up from the table.

"I'm going to head to bed, okay?"

"No you're not. Eat your vegetables."

Keesha reluctantly sat back down and picked at the mixed veggies on her plate. The scent of broccoli made her gag. She was a fully grown adult. She did not want to take orders like a toddler.

"Fine." She bit into the first tree of broccoli and swallowed. "But I'm not talking to her."

"You will eventually."

"I don't have to."

"Yes you do, because I said so."

"Ugh, yes, Mom." She meant it as a joke, but the second it came out of her mouth, she realized what it meant.

Gran stopped for a moment. She sniffled lightly.

"I'm sorry, child."

"Don't be. It's not your fault." _It's Lenique's._

Gran nodded. "Now come on. Those vegetables won't eat themselves."


	7. Chapter 7: Make the Call

_Ralphie drove Carlos and Dad through the entertainment district of New Tennelli. The city night life whirled past them, only slowing down when they pulled up to the concert hall. He heard the crowds of people cheering, waiting for them to go onstage and perform. He helped Carlos unload his guitar and amps from the back of truck while Dad chatted with the security guards._

 _It only took a few minutes before Carlos was ready. They were chatting in the green room when the door opened. It was DA._

 _"Hey!" Carlos immediately ran over to give DA a kiss. She squealed and hugged him tightly. Ralphie rolled his eyes. He knew that real-life Carlos only dreamed of their relationship being so simple and carefree._

 _"You left your pick on my nightstand," said DA. She handed Carlos his sleek, electric-blue guitar pick. "Hey Ralphie. Are you on drums today?"_

 _"Hell yeah!" he chuckled. "What about you?"_

 _"Mmhmm. Backup singing with Phoebe."_

 _The door opened and Dad walked in. "You guys are on in 2 minutes. Get out there."_

 _Everyone started heading out, but before Ralphie could grab his drum sticks, his Dad pulled him aside._

 _"Ralphie, I've got bad superhero news."_

 _Ralphie raised his eyebrow. "What? Is Godzilla back?"_

 _"It's the Inquisitor."_

 _Ralphie shivered. "Are you sure?"_

 _"Every single villain you've fought since the T-Rex has had golden eyes. I'm pretty damn sure."_

 _The golden eyes were the tell-tale sign of the Inquisitor, the one villain that was actually a threat to the city. Ralphie hadn't imagined it, like the other villains he made up. It was a genderless shape shifter that came in many forms. It drew on fears from his real life, like the T-Rex, or vampires. Ralphie could deal with its minions, but when face to face with the Inquisitor itself...it was a nightmare._

 _"I can't go out there. There are thousands of people, Dad. Any one of them could kill me!"_

 _"Hey, I didn't tell you this so you could be a weasly wimp!"_

 _"But-"_

 _"Don't worry. I've got security covering you. We'll pull you off if anything happens."_

 _Ralphie peeked through the door to the stage and the myriads of fans._

 _"Hey buddy." Dad patted him on the shoulder. "You know that I've always got your back. No matter what happens, I'm not going to let you get hurt."_

 _Like a light switch, Ralphie's fears turned off._

 _"Thanks." They hugged. "Now I gotta go!"_

 _On stage, the crowds cheered, the music blared, and Carlos danced around like the most wild lead guitarist in rock and roll as he played his own cover of Molly Cule's "Down to the Very Last Bit." Ralphie lost himself in the music, preferring to focus on the fangirls than search for a pair of glowing yellow eyes._

* * *

On the Thursday evening before each broadcast, everyone on the news team would scramble to finish their stories. If they couldn't finish them, they pulled all-nighters to submit them at the last minute, which could literally be an hour before they went live.

Keesha had finished her fluff piece about Arnold's debate team, so she was ready to go. Instead, she spent her time in the studio scouring the feeds for any breaking news stories that she could cover in the future. She wanted the best subject for her master package, the package she would show Professor Hindman. So far, there was nothing but hokey, small-town stories.

Her heart sank when she saw that the local bakery was closing down, the same bakery where her class made a chocolate cake for Ms. Frizzle's birthday. It wasn't a good enough story for her package, but...still. She felt like her memories of the field trips faded with every lost relic of the past.

"Hey, Keesh?"

Keesha turned around to see Derek, her co-anchor, approaching her.

"Can I talk to you for a sec?" He looked kind of nervous.

"Sure, what's up?"

Derek beckoned her over to a small group of boys commonly called "the sports crew." She reluctantly got up from her computer and approached them. She felt slightly awkward.

"So," Derek started. "Have you been following the Butterflies?"

"Kind of," Keesha lied.

"KIND OF?!" shouted Jack, the chief sports reporter of the class. "Dude, we're guaranteed to go to State!"

Derek smacked his hand on his face. "We're not guaranteed anything, Jack. Calm down."

Jack rolled his eyes at Derek. "Well then what's the point of bringing her over here?"

Keesha coughed on purpose. "Um, I'm right here guys."

Jack started talking first. "Sorry Keesha. So anyways, you know we're going to State; I don't care what Derek says. And I got this awesome idea. The State Championship takes place during the same 3 days that Professor Hindman will be with our class. Also, my dad has connections with the people who run the stadium. I want to see if we can do coverage of the entire game! If they let us, we can even broadcast on live TV!"

Despite Keesha's apathy towards sports, the idea was exhilarating. The Championship game was played in a professional stadium. Access to that stadium meant using all of their fancy cameras and special equipment. She could learn the ins and outs of a professional broadcast station. And if the show turned out well, she could take partial credit for it and get onto Professor Hindman's good list.

She tried to contain her excitement and maintain a poker face. "I uh, I might be interested. How many people have you got on the project?"

"It's just us 5...but we can ask more people!"

"Are you kidding? For something like this, you'll need the entire school! I don't even know what you'd want me for anyways!"

Derek said, "Well, Jack and I will be the anchors, and the rest of the boys want to be on cameras and in the field. We need someone to coordinate us."

"Like a stage manager?"

"A football field is too big for a stage manager. We need a director."

 _THE DIRECTOR!_ The person in charge. The one who directed every element of a broadcast from behind the scenes. The anchors, the graphics, everything. All in front of the professor she needed to impress. Keesha hadn't had a chance to be a director since...since Ms. Frizzle's class. _The whole show depends on me!_

"YES!" The words came out of her mouth before she could stop to think.

"Wow," said Derek. "That was way easier than I thought it would be."

"Of course I'll do it!" Keesha was jiggling with joy. Her mind was already starting to put together a battle plan for the game. "I mean, it'll be difficult to convince Mr. Evans that a student should be directing, cause he usually does that job. We'd also need to make this a class project and recruit people. And then we actually have to go to State, and learn how to operate the stadium facilities. Oh, and don't forget creating a script and interviewing the players beforehand-"

"Um, Keesha," Jack interrupted. "Have you EVER worked in the sports department?"

The challenge of the task at hand began to weigh on Keesha's mind.

"Well, not really. But I'm always running the main broadcast. I'm practically Mr. Evans assistant. I'm sure we can do it if we work hard."

Keesha's phone started vibrating. She discreetly checked the caller ID. It was Lenique. She let it go to voicemail. _She can wait. This is more important. A live broadcast is more challenging than any hard news package I can think of. I mean, it's LIVE! This is going to take a ton of preparation. I don't have time to talk to her!_

* * *

After 2 hours, Keesha, Jack, and the rest of the boys had a battle plan. It took up an entire page in her planner and required way too much work, but the boys had promised to do their fair share and keep her workload manageable. She was in charge of coordination and keeping everyone on schedule, which suited her very well.

Her phone vibrated again. Lenique had left her a voicemail. She hesitated, but remembered her Gran's words. She dialed her voicemail and listened carefully.

"Hi, baby! It's Ma. Hope you're doing well with school. Heard you want to get into news, and that's awesome. If you're thinking about becoming a real pro, I can do my thing and network for you down in LA, you know, get you started, whatever whatever. Right now though, you need to call me and tell me about your college plans. If we gonna do this thing right by Grandma, I need to know where you're gonna to live during the summer. There's a lot to take care of, so don't be a stranger. Call me back, okay? I love you!"

 _I love you? I LOVE YOU?!_ She listened to the message a couple times, trying to listen for any subtext that she could pick up from Lenique's intonation. _"I can do my thing and network for you down in LA?" That has to be something she promises people to make them obey her._ That means that Lenique wanted something. Something to do with her summer plans.

She sat in her car for about 5 minutes, debating whether to call. "You can't put it off forever, Keesha. You can do this. It's just for business. Nothing to worry about. Just think of it like a news interview. Try and pull out the truth."

She dialed the number. It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

"This is Lenique."

Keesha tried to open her mouth, but the words wouldn't come out.

"Hello?" Lenique sounded impatient.

Somehow, Keesha managed to force words through her windpipe.

"H-hey, Lenique. This uh, this is Keesha."

Lenique's tone instantly filled with overactive cheer. "Hey baby! How you doing?"

"Fine, thank you." Keesha kept her voice curt. "I got your voicemail-"

"Of course, of course. How's school going? You got a boyfriend?"

 _Why is she asking me that?_ "Um, no, not really. Just, you know, keeping focused on the news."

"Of course. You're like me: the career always come first." Lenique laughed.

Keesha silently shivered. "Anyways," she growled, "you needed me to discuss my college plans with you?"

"Yeah. Are you planning to go to a local college, or somewhere a little bit further away from Walkerville?"

"Well, I was hoping for Washington State, so I could stay with Gran on the weekends."

"Right, but since Gran will be staying with me-"

"I'm sorry, was that already set in stone?"

There was silence on the other end of the line for a little bit. "Is something wrong, Keesha?"

Keesha didn't know how to feel right now. Her head felt like a knot. She didn't remember what she had originally intended to do during this call. Some crap about getting truth out of her mother. Right now, she didn't care. All she wanted to do right now was make Lenique's life as difficult as possible.

"No, of course not. I'm just saying that plans can change sometimes. And don't you go telling me that Gran was the one that made this decision. If she was planning on moving when I left for college, she would have had the details set years in advance."

"Baby, Gran is pretty old. You can't expect her to -"

"Do not tell me what Gran can and cannot do!" Keesha snapped. "She is perfectly capable to taking care of herself. And don't call me baby!"

"I never said she wasn't!" She heard a sigh on the other end of the line. "Look, I know that we don't exactly know each other all that well. Maybe you'd understand if I visited for a few days and talked with you in person about...all of this?"

"Oh, NOW you want to fulfill your promise? You picked a great time to start. Don't start talking to your daughter until she goes to college! That's a great plan! Wait 18 years after you promise to 'come back and take care of her' before you actually follow through!"

"Trust me, hun, I would not be putting you through this if I had a choice."

"Yeah, you sure don't have a choice now, with me or with Gran. You're not taking her, _Lenique._ We're just fine without you."

"...Are you sure? Really?" Lenique sounded like she was challenging her to repeat that statement.

"Yeah, really! We're FINE!"

Lenique didn't speak for a few minutes, but Keesha could hear heavy breathing on the other end of the line. Finally, Lenique spoke again. Her voice still sounded happy and carefree, with only the slightest hint of irritation.

"Well, let me know when you change your mind. I'll keep talking to Gran about the move. We'll figure out how to sell the house some other time. I'll talk to you later."

 _Click_. The line went dead before Keesha got the chance to yell "we'll see about that." She walked briskly to her car, replaying what had just happened. She couldn't help but criticize her performance over the phone.

"Good job, Keesh, that was handled really well. 'Yeah, really?' Who are you, Ralphie? Oh bad, oh bad! She was way too calm for that entire conversation, just way too nice. And she mentioned selling the house. She can't do that! She can't sell our house! Can she sell our house?"

She wanted to stop thinking about it, but her mind wouldn't let her. It ate at her, gnawing her insides and making her head hurt. She hopped into her car and turned on some jazz music. Fortunately, "'Round Midnight" was playing, and her nerves calmed down a little. She managed to drive home without honking the horn at someone. When she arrived at the house, Gran was asleep, so she went to bed immediately.

"I'll show her how well I can take care of myself when I go to college. She'll be the one changing her mind."


	8. Chapter 8: The Inquisitor

**December**

The score was 21-18 Walkerville. 4th Down. The Apollo Martians was only 5 yards from a touchdown. 15 seconds left. If the Martians scored, they won. If they won, no State Championship for the Butterflies.

Ralphie had already taken a pretty bad hit in the 1st quarter from ramming 2 tackles at once. His head still throbbed, and he couldn't breathe as deep as he normally did. He hoped it wasn't affecting his performance, but the scoreboard said otherwise.

"R, I need you to listen to me very carefully." Coach Teller's eyes burned with passion. "The Martians are going to run the ball. I need you to follow the Runningback. Do not let him get through! You hear me, R? You hunt him like he's your prey!"

Ralphie nodded vigorously. "That Runningback is as good as dead." That was a little morbid, but he was in a foul mood. He liked morbid. He walked out onto the field slowly. The crowd screamed at him.

"You can do it R!" "Come on R, you got this!" "Don't fail us now!"

He tried to clear his mind from the headache, pumping up his body and getting his blood flowing. It was difficult in the frigid weather. He shivered as his hands dug into the frosty turf. He always kept Ms. Frizzle's "team" of blood, heart, and lungs in his mind when he was playing, but it was difficult to think when his brain had the volume turned up too loud. The energy in his body boiled. He was barely able to contain the stress.

 _Okay, this is it. "R" versus the Quarterback._

 _No no, wait. "R" versus the Runningback._

 _Oh shit._ _What did Coach say?_ He tried to remember, but it wouldn't come to him.

 _It was only 30 seconds ago! How could you have_ _forgotten?_ _What the hell is wrong with you?_ He wanted to go back and ask, but it was too late. He was already on the field. There was nothing he could do.

 _It's okay, Ralphie. Just play it by ear._ _Figure out what they're going to do and react appropriately. In 15 seconds. You've got this. You've GOT this!_

Time slowed. He could see his short breath in little wisps of vapor. His heart was racing a million miles a minute.

"HIKE!"

In a split second, he saw the Quarterback look over to the end zone. Ralphie followed his gaze to a wide receiver, who was currently being blocked by the other linebackers. He looked back to the Quarterback, who was searching frantically with his eyes.

 _It's not a run; it's a pass!_

He charged forward on instinct. There was a slight gap in the wall of bodies. It would be a tough push, but he didn't care. The boiling energy inside his body became a raging fire. He ran at the line with all his might and a loud yell.

 _BOOM_

The Martians' burly men flew out of the way like bowling pins. Ralphie ignored the pain in his chest and head as he pumped his legs as hard as he could. He dove headfirst for the Quarterback and tried to make the pipsqueak shit himself with fear.

"COME HERE!"

 _BOOM. CRACK._

* * *

The world slowly faded up from darkness. Through the blurry bars on his helmet, Ralphie barely made out the lopsided scoreboard. 21-18.

The Martians didn't score! He did it! They won! He could hear the crowd screaming with joy and the announcer shouting over the intercom. It sounded muted, but he knew that they were cheering for him. "I love you too," he murmured.

He tried to lift himself up, but a wave of nausea overwhelmed him, and Ralphie collapsed back onto something soft below him. His insides began to squirm awkwardly, and he saw flashbacks of Arnold's stomach.

"R! Are you okay?"

"Get him off the other guy!"

"Brett, Kyle, grab his shoulders. Ready? And HEAVE!"

Ralphie felt his heavy body roll over onto the cold turf. He groaned as his head throbbed in agony.

"Get that off of him. R, can you hear me?"

His helmet was gone. Frigid air brushed past Ralphie's chocolate brown hair, cooling his face and clearing his thoughts for a brief moment. His stomach was sending him familiar signals, and he feared the worst.

"Coach?"

"Coach is talking with the ref, R. It's me, Harry. What's wrong?"

Ralphie didn't want to say the words, but he had to warn them.

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Oh God! Everyone get back! HE THINKS HE'S GONNA BE SICK!"

In a few seconds, Ralphie's entire calzone dinner was on the football. The "R" on his jersey was covered with half-digested cheese, bread, and acid. It smelled like a sewage accident in an Italian restaurant. Harry looked down at him in the same way an aristocrat looks at a dead dog. Ralphie's face would have been red if it wasn't so pale.

"Oh good God, R. Brett, go get some towels and clean this scrub up."

Ralphie tried to distract himself from Harry's asinine comments, and from the slimy feeling on his abdomen. _I'm fine. Hell, I'm better than fine. I'm amazing! We won! Wait, we won, right?_

"Harry, did we win?"

"Yeah R, we won. Just hold on; someone will clean you in a second. By the way, I think you might have broken the other Quarterback's bones. And covered him in your puke."

A wave of drowsiness washed over Ralphie. The world swirled around him, and Harry's voice grew distant again. He welcomed the sweet embrace of his dreams in New Tennelli.

* * *

"For Walkerville Weekly, I'm Keesha Franklin."

"And I'm Derek Thompson. See you next week."

As the "On Air" signed dimmed, Keesha sighed. The Butterflies did it. They were going to State. She leapt up from the anchor desk and gave Jack a high five. He was smiling from ear to ear.

"Okay Keesha," Jack said. "What's next?"

"Logistics. We need to start coordinating camera positions and planning as much of the game as possible."

"Didn't we already do that when my Dad taught us how to use everything?"

"We were just learning the equipment, not actually planning which cameras we'll use when! This is our first time. We can't just wing everything!"

Jack rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'll tell my friends."

Keesha's phone vibrated. It was Wanda.

"Keesh!"

"I'm kind of busy right now Wanda. What's up?"

"Did the reports tell you if Ralphie's okay? He never actually got off the field."

"I'm sure he's fine."

"Yeah, well, we're gonna go over to his house and make sure. Maybe watch a movie or something after. You down for a thriller?"

"I can't. I'm busy."

"Wow. Being a really great fucking friend."

"Today is broadcast day!"

She heard Phoebe in the background asking "is she coming?" Wanda yelled to Phoebe "Your bestie is being a bitch!"

"Look, I'll call him tonight, okay?"

Wanda got back on the line. "Oh, okay, cool. Like, seriously, he'll really appreciate it. You can get back to being queen news bee now."

Keesha rolled. "Whatever Wanda."

Mr. Evans walked into the studio. Keesha bid Wanda goodbye and rushed over. Now that the game was set in stone, they could start recruiting students to help. And they needed to start before everyone went home. She got right up in Evans' face.

"Hey, do you think we could make that announcement right now?"

"I was just about to," he said with a smile. He then directed his attention to the room. "Attention everyone! Before we wrap up, I need to talk about a special report."

Once the class was seated in their chairs, Mr. Evans began. "Now that the Butterflies are officially going to State, you need to know what the game plan is. Jack and Derek have been working with the stadium faculty to produce a live broadcast of the game on our local TV channel. They have a limited crew at the moment, so I wanted to ask everyone to pitch in. You'll receive extra credit and can score extra points with Professor Hindman, who will be there."

Keesha looked at her classmates, trying to gauge their reaction. Most of them seemed interested, but no one was volunteering.

"A-again, it's extra credit." Mr. Evans stammered. "But this is also the only chance you'll get to use professional equipment. I should also mention that Hindman is on the Washington State Board of Admissions, so if you're looking to get into that college, and you don't have your own news package to show him, this is an excellent opportunity."

"Um, excuse me, but is this a requirement?" Janet whined. "I'm a cheerleader, so I obviously can't help."

"Yeah, and I'm in the band," said Andy. "I can't help either."

The other students started to look at their phones and talk quietly amongst themselves. Keesha heard excuses from students about practice to other activities to normal homework. And the end of the day, 10 people volunteered. Even with the 3 "sports boys," Jack, Derek, and Keesha, they still didn't had the minimum number of people needed to operate the stadium: 22. She would have to make cuts in the number of cameras, or maybe ask people to work double duty.

She knew what was going to happen. It had happened many times before. She would pull all-nighters doing other people's jobs. She'd desperately scramble to fill in for somebody who bailed. And at the end of the day, they'd barely make the broadcast happen. It would be riddled with errors that would humiliate her in front of Professor Hindman.

She pulled her teammates aside before they went home. It was late, about 10PM.

"Guys," she said slowly. "We need more people."

Jack spoke. "I know there are a few sophomores in the intermediate video class who would love to help. We can put them in the easy positions."

"This is a live show," Keesha groaned. "There are no easy positions."

"Well, what about you?" spat Derek, who was red in the face and twitching. "I don't know a damn person who can help us! So unless you've got people who would be interested in this game, we don't have a choice."

She shook her head. "None of my friends are really interested in the news or football...but I'll make some calls. You should definitely talk to the intermediate class. We'll figure this out guys. We can do this."

Jack grunted. "We have to now."

* * *

 _Ralphie gazed down on the baseball field from his seat high in the third tier of the Thunderdome. All the seats were empty in his area, with most of the fans opting for a closer view. From this distance, the players looked like little ants running around the field, especially Wanda at first base. Today, he wanted to relax and take a game off. He thought about what it would feel like to play on that kind of major-league turf in real life. The possibility seemed so close._

 _Still, something felt...wrong. Where was his dad? Where were his friends?_

 _Ralphie heard the clack-clack-clack of high heels to his left. A tall woman approached his seat. Her hair was bright red. The uneasy feeling in his gut disappeared, and he completely forgot about his Dad._

 _"Ms. Frizzle!"_

 _Ms. Frizzle towered over Ralphie. She was dressed differently than normal. Her dress was inky black with a green trim. She was wearing a green tie, and her hair, while still up in her normal 'do, wasn't as frizzy as usual. She carried a thick, black notepad with her._

 _He leapt out of his seat and ran to her, hugging her dress as tight as he could. His head barely touched her waistline._

 _"Ralphie!" Ms. Frizzle patted his hat. "How's my favorite student?"_

 _"Great, Ms. Frizzle. I've missed you so much!"_

 _Ms. Frizzle laughed that magical laugh of hers. "Oh, I've missed you too! You haven't changed a bit."_

 _They walked over to Ralphie's area and sat down. He was curious as to why Ms. Frizzle was dressed so nicely for a baseball game. It made him feel awkward in his normal "R" shirt and green pants._

 _"So tell me, how are you really feeling? No one's life is all sunshine and rainbows."_

 _"Well, no, but that's not going to stop me from kicking ass!"_

 _"Ah, you're as optimistic as ever. But you know, I want to help you make your life even better. So tell me: what are you not happy with?"_

 _Ralphie looked upwards into the night sky, trying to think._

 _"Well...Keesha doesn't like me anymore."_

 _"Oh, that's too bad. Why doesn't she like you?"_

 _" I don't know. She always has more important things to do."_

 _"Well, Ralphie, maybe you're just not good enough for her anymore. She's very smart, you know. She probably wants to be friends with people who will succeed just like her."_

 _"But I will succeed Ms. Frizzle! I'll be down there!" Ralphie pointed to the right field position._

 _"Will you?"_

 _The stars in the night sky blinked out of existence one by one._

 _"Of course I will! I've been set on this since I was 6! I'm 'R!' People worship me! I've already made it to the college level, and that's the harder of the two thresholds! Nothing can stop me! Shicka shicka ka-boom, right?"_

 _Ralphie's favorite phrase gave him far less confidence when he said it aloud._

 _"R-Right?"_

 _Ms. Frizzle looked up from her notepad and stared straight at Ralphie. He felt a dark, familiar feeling engulf his hopes._

 _"S-So what if I'm a little stupid?" he sputtered. "Yogi Berra was a LOT stupid, and he's like, in the Hall of Fame!" He felt claustrophobic from the darkness._

 _Ms. Frizzle shook her head. "Ralphie, even as a college athlete, you have a ten percent chance of playing professional baseball. And now, you are competing against all the other athletes who made it to that same level. Everyone will be just as good as you. Your batting average will drop with better pitchers on the field. Most of the other players will be smarter than you. You really think you can be in the top ten?"_

 _"I..."_

 _He looked down at the major-league players on the baseball field. They seemed so far away now._

 _Ms. Frizzle clacked her heels against the concrete. "I'm very disappointed in you, Ralphie."_

 _She pulled out a remote control with a single red button. Before he could ask what it was, she pushed it._

 _The world dropped out from under them. Ralphie and Ms. Frizzle fell into endless darkness for what seemed like an eternity. All he could see was her eyes. They sparkled bright gold and glowed with an inhuman aura - her pupils only tiny specks in the middle._

 _THUD_

 _He felt no pain as he hit the wooden floor. He picked his body off the ground and looked at his new surroundings. He was in a courtroom. Ms. Frizzle stood tall in the judge's seat. His friends and his teachers sat in benches surrounding him, silently judging him._

 _He knew this room. And he knew that the woman on the stand wasn't Ms. Frizzle. She was the shape-shifting Inquisitor._

 _"Ralphie Tennelli." The Inquisitor's voice no longer carried compassion or love, but an otherwordly screech that made him want to piss himself. "Based on the evidence presented by you, and the testimony of your friends and family, I pronounce you guilty."_

 _"G-Guilty? Of w-what?"_

 _"Murder."_

 _"Murder?!"_

 _"The murder of Raoul Tennelli."_

 _Ralphie felt weak. He couldn't get air into his lungs._

 _"My dad died in a car accident! An ACCIDENT! My mom will tell you the same thing!"_

 _The Inquisitor began to shape-shift. In a matter of seconds, the woman in the judge's seat was no longer Ms. Frizzle, but his mom. The only thing that stayed the same were the golden eyes._

 _"You know what you did," Mom said in the same screechy voice. "You know that Raoul would be alive if you didn't exist."_

 _"But I didn't do it! I wasn't even with him when he died! How could I have killed him?"_

 _The Inquisitor shape-shifted again. Ralphie covered his eyes and ears. He didn't want to see Dad with the eyes. He didn't want to hear it, but he didn't have a choice._

 _"You were supposed to have my back! You worthless little shit!"_

 _He dropped to his knees and started shaking uncontrollably. He heard the Inquisitor bang its gavel._

 _"For the crime of patricide, I hereby sentence you to death. Bus!"_

 _The judge's stand suddenly transformed into the bright yellow Bus. Its headlights turned on, hitting him with their intense light. He felt the familiar, terrifying transformation effect on his body. He was shrinking. His bones disintegrated, his eyes disappeared, and he felt a hard material grow out of his back. The majority of his body turned into slime. He was a snail._

 _He felt the shell on his back start to crack under an enormous weight. Someone was stepping on him. With no mouth to scream, Ralphie cried inside as he was crushed like the worthless creature that he was._

* * *

He woke up in a cold sweat. His head pounded. He threw off his covers and patted his body all over. Skin. Hair. Hat. He was human. He was in his own bed.

He'd never been so happy to see his room, with all his sweet nostalgia covering the walls. He scrambled over to his bookshelf, flooding his mind with memories that he enjoyed. Memories with the real Ms. Frizzle. The Teacherathalon. Weatherman. Ralphiebot. He tried not to think about his father, who was hit by a car when Ralphie was still in Ms. Frizzle's class. He tried not to think about his mother, who had never treated him the same way afterwards. He tried to think of his future as the baseball idol of the next generation, and the champion of the Walkerville Butterflies football team. Anything to get away from that awful dream and those golden eyes.


	9. Chapter 9: Old Times

His mom spoke in her typical matter-of-fact tone. "The whole school knows how bad your concussion was. Your history teacher already called me and told me to keep you at home. You need rest, sweetheart."

Ralphie was lying in his queen-sized bed, and the comfy sheets were already doing wonders to his body. If this month was any ordinary month, he would have loved a few days without school or homework. But this was not an ordinary month. The Championship game was in only two weeks. And since Ralphie trained his defensive squad every practice, that left half the team with a handicap.

As if on cue, his mother spoke. "I know what you're thinking, so don't even start. Coach Teller informed me that the defense is in capable hands. I know you care, but you're not the only one who can take a hit. Sleep well, okay?"

She closed the door firmly, leaving him alone, frustrated and confused. He hated that his mom could read his mind. He knew she was right, and that just pissed him off more. _I'm 17,_ _and she's still telling me the same shit about resting. I'm fine! I just want to help my team! Why is that so wrong?_ He noticed Ralphiebot looking at him, the light bulb eyes glaring condescendingly.

"Don't stare. It's rude. Dick."

He rolled onto his side so he wouldn't have to look at Ralphiebot. _I'm fine. I'm fine right?_ It was just a concussion. He would recover in time. Maybe his mom had a point. His team was in no real danger. If they did need him, they would call him.

As if on cue, his cell phone vibrated. He checked who it was.

 _Keesha!_

"Hey, Keesh! What's up?"

"Hey Ralphie. How'd the game go?"

"Great! I took a nasty hit, but we won gloriously. 15 seconds to go and the Martians were only 5 yar - "

"Yeah yeah, listen. I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor."

He took a deep breath _. Let it go R._ _That's just how she is._

"Yeah, sure. What's up?"

He listened intently as Keesha explained the live broadcast.

"So what exactly is it you want me to do? I'm not on the news team, and I'll be a _little_ busy doing my 'R' thing, if you know what I'm saying."

"That's exactly what I want you to do. I want you play it up for the cameras a little bit. See if your team can help you out. We want this to be the most exciting game the world has ever seen."

Ralphie couldn't believe it. _Is it just me, or am I finally getting to work with Keesha? On something she loves? And something I love?_ _TOGETHER?_ He thought their interests would never cross paths again. This was too good to be true.

"Y-You can count on me, Keesh! I'll uh, I'll meet up with you tomorrow to discuss the plans. What period is the news show?"

"Um, first period, but you really don't have to. I heard about -"

"Oh pssh, I'm fine! I wouldn't miss working with you on this if I was dying of brain cancer."

"Wow, thanks, but please don't."

"Of course I'm not dying. Anyways, I'll see you tomorrow! Thanks Keesha!"

"Wait, Ral-."

 _Click_

Ralphie set his alarm for an hour before his mom woke up. He looked at the videotape on his bookshelf, which contained the Frizzle News Network broadcast inside his throat.

 _Just like old times._

* * *

Before the sun came up, a Ralphiebot dummy lay in his bed while Ralphie clumsily snuck past his parents and climbed into Phoebe's Honda Civic. He fed Baxter a treat to make sure the dog didn't wake up the whole house and blow his cover. He didn't dare use his own car, or his mom would hear the engine. He covered himself with a blanket and hid in the back, praying that Phoebe wouldn't notice him when she left for school. He thought it was a great plan. He felt like the opposite of Ferris Bueller.

By some miracle, Phoebe didn't notice the gorilla in her backseat until the car hit some speed bumps on the way to school. Ralphie tried to be quiet, but the chassis rammed into his sides, poking his already sore abdomen.

"Oof!" Busted.

"AHHH!" Phoebe swerved the car over to the side of the road and leapt out of the driver's seat. She pulled out a can of pepper spray from her purse and pointed it at the hulking mass in the back. Ralphie quickly pulled out his red cap from under the blanket and waved it at her.

"Pheebs, calm down! It's me!"

"Ralphie? What's wrong with you?"

"I'm grounded; I'm not supposed to be at school!"

"When does _Ralphie_ ever want to go to school?"

Ralphie explained his situation with Keesha as he slowly got up from the car's rear and climbed into the passenger's seat. His large body barely fit inside the Civic; his head pressed up against the ceiling and his legs pushed against the glove compartment. Phoebe started driving.

"...So yeah, Keesha wants to discuss the Championship broadcast with me. Plan the theatrics and stuff. It's awesome, right? I'm so stoked!"

"Ralphie, I know you're excited, but...don't take this the wrong way? I...I don't think you should go."

"What? You jealous?"

"Keesha told me that today's meeting is about logistics like camera setup and equipment transportation. They won't be thinking about 'theatrics' for a few days."

"Well, Keesha didn't tell me any of that. If she didn't want me there, she could've just said something."

"Ralphie...maybe she did, and you weren't listening?"

"Nah. I'm a great listener!"

Phoebe shook her head, a gesture that Ralphie didn't know how to interpret.

"Look, I'm sorry about scaring you, okay?"

"It's okay, really! I was falling asleep anyways, so you helped keep me awake. Do you want me to drive you home after lunch, so Dad won't catch you?"

"Oh, crap. Can you pick me up after practice?

"You didn't think this through, did you? Where's your backpack?"

"...Shut your face."

Phoebe smiled. "You're welcome," she said in her sweet voice.

Ralphie sighed. "Thank you Pheebs."

At this point they were in the parking lot, but school didn't start for another 15 minutes. Ralphie unbuckled his seat belt as Phoebe pulled into the parking spot, and was about to escape the confines of the little Civic when she touched his arm.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Whassup?"

"Are you okay with Arnold and I dating?"

He paused. "That's...kind of a loaded question."

"I know."

"I don't like loaded questions."

Phoebe chuckled. "You know I don't judge."

Ralphie leaned against the side of the car. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Well, whenever we're together around you, you get all nervous."

"Nervous?"

"You play with your hat. That means you're nervous."

Ralphie sighed again. He had never felt comfortable with their relationship, but it was difficult to figure out why. He slowly slid back into the passenger seat. He started to play with his hat, but then stopped because he didn't want Phoebe to catch on.

That's when he was noticed a picture hanging from her rear view mirror. It was a cutout from the cover of _"Planted Magazine,"_ the edition that featured Ms. Frizzle's class and garden. Phoebe was out in front with Ms. Frizzle. She was so small back then. And so...innocent. Like a crystal that was untouched by years of puberty, hormones, and society's influences.

Just like that, something clicked in his mind.

"I can't say I'm completely okay, Pheebs. And it's not because of you two in particular. I trust the other guys in our gang more than anyone else on planet earth. And I trust Arnold even more than Carlos or Tim. So really, you picked the best possible guy."

Phoebe chuckled. "Not even the best of the best is good enough for you?"

"No, it's...it's a selfish reason." Ralphie rubbed his eyes and shuffled in his tiny seat, trying to make his mind transform his emotional jigsaw into a full sentence. "The eight of us...most of the time...Okay, so usually, we're all the same people that we were at the age of 8. Carlos is still a clown, you're still timid -"

"Keesha's still Keesha?"

"Ehhhh, you get what I'm saying." Ralphie tapped his fingers. "I guess...When I'm with you guys, it's like I'm back in the third grade. It brings back that happiness I felt when I was...little, and adventurous, and well...innocent, I guess. But when we change..."

Ralphie stopped. The Fog was rolling in, and he forgot what he was talking about.

"Sorry, lost my train of thought."

"Ralphie...me dating Arnold doesn't change what we all went through. We've all changed more than you think. I mean, I'm your sister now."

"I know; I get that part. And I still remember everything."

"Like that time in the Arctic when we had to put on those blubber suits?"

Ralphie laughed and shuddered at the same time. It came out sounding like a weird snort. "God, that was so disgustingly awesome! To be honest, I was only happy for the suits because I wasn't freezing to death."

Phoebe chuckled. "But seriously, we're all really different. Even Keesha's changed."

"Nah, she still gives me the same shit."

"I meant in other ways. You just haven't noticed because you like her so much."

Ralphie hit his head on the ceiling. "I do not!"

Phoebe laughed harder than he knew was possible. He wondered if the students in the commons could hear her. She patted his arm.

"Oh Ralphie. You say you're uncomfortable with my dating Arnold. But you sneak out of your room, hide in my car, and attend a meeting that's not mandatory, all while you have a concussion, and grounded, just so you can talk to her! Everyone knows."

"Even Keesha?"

Phoebe looked away. "No."

Ralphie might have been terrible at reading between the lines, but he knew Phoebe too well. _She's not telling me everything._ He let out a low grumble of frustration as he climbed out of the car.

"I'll see you later, Pheebs," he growled.

* * *

All of the volunteers sat in the middle of the classroom, their plastic chairs arranged in semi-circles facing a whiteboard. It held a rundown of a football game and the different segments for each portion, like the start, a touchdown, half-time, and the end game interviews. The very end of the rundown split into two portions - an ending if they won, and an ending if they lost.

Mr. Evans, Keesha, and the lead students collaborated in the front row, while their volunteers took notes. Keesha was in full work mode. Class time was the only time that she could count on everyone to pay attention. It was critical that they make some form of progress today. Which is why she really regretted calling Ralphie last night.

"Jack," she asked. "Did you speak with the intermediate class yet?"

"It's only been one day! Give me a break!"

"Hey, I'm just asking. For now, let's assume that you guys are all we've got. First -"

She heard the door open with a loud _ccreeeak._ It was Ralphie.

"Hey Keesha? Am I interrupting?"

Keesha sighed. _He actually came._ She had been praying that he forgot, or slept in, or just decided to be lazy.

"No, you're fine."

Mr. Evans looked at Ralphie, puzzled. "I'm sorry, but who are you and why are you in my classroom?"

"Oh, sorry. Tennelli, Defensive Linebacker. You can call me R. Keesha thought I could help you guys with the Championship game."

Evans raised his eyebrows. "So _you're_ R. I hear about you every week on the sports report. I didn't know you were friends with Keesha."

"We're not," Keesha butt in. "We knew each other when we were kids."

She pretended to ignore Ralphie's hurt expression and Janet's snort from across the room. "Can we get back to the setup?" she asked. "Ralphie, just watch and take notes. I'll brief you on what you can do after class."

To her surprise, Ralphie obeyed, sitting down in an empty chair in the back row. Keesha ignored her chastising conscience and focused on the far more important task at hand. She walked up and flipped over the board to reveal the other side, which was a diagram of the football stadium.

"Okay guys, let's go over camera positions. Since we have a limited crew, we'll have to choose which cameras we operate. They have at least 12 different cameras, but we can only man about 6."

"So, how about a master, then 2 on each end side, 2 for the reverse sides, and 1 camera for the anchors in the studio?" responded Derek.

"Yeah, that works! We can place a master here," Keesha circled a spot on the diagram, "and then 2 cameras here and here for coverage of the action. 1 camera stays in the anchor studio. I'd actually prefer to use the 2 last cameras for touchdowns, if you don't mind."

Ralphie raised his hand. Keesha sighed internally. "What is it, Ralphie?"

He cringed. "It's R, Keesh. And you're gonna need field goal cameras."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, after the touchdown, the kicker kicks the ball into the field goal for an extra point?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "So?"

"They always have a camera way behind the field goal post for the best angle. Have you guys _ever_ watched a football game?"

Jack and a couple of other students nodded, but most of them just looked at Ralphie like he was dirt. Keesha sighed.

"He's right," said Mr. Evans. "We should all probably familiarize ourselves with professional football broadcasting before we progress any further."

"There's a Seahawks game against the Steelers this Sunday," Ralphie suggested. "You guys could all get together and have a football day. It'll be great; they're having an amazing season. We can go to my house!"

"Thank you, Ralphie _._ " growled Keesha.

"Oh, and you can remove that 'losing' ending. 'Cause that's not gonna happen if I'm there," he said with a cocky smirk.

 _Does he realize that the more he talks, the more stuff I have to do?_ She didn't have an entire day for a party. At this rate, the broadcast would never launch. But the other students were already getting excited about a party at his house, and now she'd have to disappoint everyone. _Always has to jump in with his stupid ideas_.

As if on cue, Keesha's phone rang. It was her Grandmother. _Not now!_

"Keesha, seriously? This is -"

"I'm sorry Mr. Evans, but this is family." Keesha briskly walked out of the newsroom, her hair starting to fall out of her bun.

* * *

In the hallway, Keesha whipped out her little flip phone like a business woman making calls. Her voice, however, was far less professional.

"Grandma? You there? What's wrong?"

"Keesha, I'm so sorry for calling you."

"Are you hurt? Where are you?"

"I'm fine dear. I just need to let you know that I'm at the hospital."

Keesha felt like her body was splitting in two.

"What happened?!"

"Baby, it's okay. It's just a little bit of coughing and bleeding."

 _Coughing and bleeding? What does that mean?_ "If it's not that bad, why are you at the hospital?"

"Coughing blood isn't an emergency, but it -"

"You're coughing up blood?!"

"Keesha!"

"Sorry."

"Yes, but it's not much. I've been feeling nauseous for the past few days, but nothing serious has happened. I just want to let you know that I probably won't be home when you get back from school. That's all."

"I'll come visit you at the hospital as soon as I get the chance, okay?"

"Oh, child. You don't have to, but I appreciate that. Let me know when you're on your way, okay?"

"Of course. Don't let them stick any chemicals in your body okay?"

Gran laughed. "Of course not! I'm not a guinea pig! How's school?"

"Great, but I have to get back. I'll see you this afternoon, okay?"

"Okay child. See you then." _Click._

Keesha just stood there in the hallway for a bit, breathing heavily. This had never happened before. Until today, Gran had been very healthy for her age. Her ailments were more mental than physical. Keesha knew that she would have to tackle medical payments and insurance when she got home, but that was then. Now, she had a show to run. She tried not to think about all the complications that might happen. She tried not to think about losing Gran to disease, or to Lenique. She thought about the game, and the show, and everything she had to do.

She turned around on her heel and ran straight into Ralphie.


	10. Chapter 10: Talk to Me

**NOTICE!** It's been over 6 months since I last updated this script, and let me tell you, LOTS HAS CHANGED. If you read the story before 1/20/17, you will need to go back and start at Chapter 6. I have gutted a LOT of the story in order to advance things more quickly towards the Championship game. Although it may feel like key plot points were removed...they weren't key plot points. They were wasting your time.

For a quick summary, here's what's changed:

1) Nikki no longer exists.

2) Ralphie's NLI with Duke is STILL GOOD. The entire subplot about Ralphie's problems with college sports is GONE.

3) Keesha no longer has a humongous conversation with Derek.

4) The warning signs about Gran's health don't come until Chapter 9.

5) New content starts around Chapter 7.

6) Keesha now has a conversation with Lenique.

It's all in the interest of making the story better. **Sigh** I just wish I could be better about writing good stuff the first time around. Anyways, enjoy.

* * *

He did not expect her to walk so quickly. Keesha almost fell from the impact with his letterman jacket.

"Oh shit! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks," Keesha said curtly, her mind everywhere but with Ralphie. "Sorry, just, very busy. Come on, let's go." She pushed past him and bolted straight for the door, her hair trailing behind her bun in little wisps. Ralphie's entertainment ideas could be discussed in the newsroom, where she could reject them with peer pressure. That usually worked with him.

Ralphie felt her determination. Any other time, he would leave her alone, but he had heard her half of the conversation. He didn't know what was wrong in her life, but he refused to let her work herself to death trying to fix it like she always did. He grabbed her shoulder gently, but firmly, preventing her from moving.

"Keesh, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"I'm not _that_ stupid."

Keesha said nothing.

"I heard that your Gran's in the hospital," Ralphie said. "Is she alright?"

"It's none of your business. I have a show to run." She pushed away the gratitude she felt, determined to stop it from interfering with her work. She wrestled free from his grip and continued walking.

Ralphie grabbed her shoulder again, this time spinning her around to face him. He tried not to think about the attitude she was giving him, and instead focused on what she might be going through. He inspected her eyes closely, and noticed the heavy foundation. He'd spent enough time with caked women to know that Keesha was hiding her fatigue.

"Is it just me, or do you have bags under your eyes?"

"So I'm a little tired. Big deal."

"When's the last time you got a good night rest?"

"Last night, actually."

"For how long?"

"...4 hours."

"You call that _sleep_?"

"We have, like, 40 minutes of class left!"

Keesha rushed for the door, but Ralphie pulled her back again.

"Look, just listen to me for 5 minutes, and then you can go back."

Keesha crossed her arms and leaned against the door. Ralphie started playing with his hat. He could feel the Fog starting to jam his thoughts, but he fought to hold his focus. _Here goes nothing._

"I know it's crazy, but for once, I'm actually worried about you," he started.

Keesha scoffed. Just like that, the Fog dissolved all of Ralphie's feelings into a mass of frustration and hurt.

"Okay, you know what? Fuck you!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just find it hard to believe that you're worried about me, when you never even sit down to chat with your old friends!"

"I do too!"

"That was one time, and you only talked about yourself!"

"I did not!"

"You totally did!"

The Fog ate at his brain. All Ralphie could think about was how much he would like her to stop talking. He didn't care about her problems anymore, or how he was supposed to be helping her.

"If you really don't give a shit, why did you bother to call me here today?"

Keesha was so glad that he asked that question. She'd been meaning to yell at him since last night.

"I DIDN'T! I asked you to hype up your own team, on YOUR OWN TIME. I didn't want you to meddle with the actual broadcast!-"

"-Oh my God, please shut up-."

"-You invited yourself here!-"

"-for one second-"

"-Did you think I actually wanted you to derail everyone with your stupid id-"

 _"-SHUT THE FUCK UP!"_ Ralphie shouted at the top of his lungs, releasing some of his boiling rage. He put his hand against the wall to prop himself up while the rest of his body tried to contain the furnace.

Keesha stepped back. She was slightly worried for her safety, but she was even more confused by his behavior. Ralphie was stupid, irresponsible, stubborn and superficial, but not _angry_. The boy in front of her, who was visibly shaking, didn't match the boy she knew from Ms. Frizzle's class, or even the teenager she knew last year.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Her words turned all of Ralphie's emotions off like a light switch. The Fog lifted, the anger vaporized, and his world returned to normal.

 _What the hell am I doing? I just yelled at her because she gave me her typical snark?_

He suddenly felt very tired. Not physically, but emotionally, like he couldn't handle any feelings from himself, let alone others. The only thing he felt was embarrassment for losing his shit. He slumped down to the ground, removing his letterman jacket to reveal a plain red shirt.

"I'm sorry." He forced the words out through a brick in his throat. "I've just...I've been really stressed out. That's not really an excuse, but...yeah."

" _You've_ been stressed out, Mr. Duke-Baseball-Champ? I don't see you worrying about college like, oh, I don't know, every other senior at this school."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. You've probably got way more problems than I do right now."

"Whatever. Can we go back inside?"

Ralphie knew that he had to buckle up and stop thinking about himself. Keesha's health was at stake.

"No."

"Why not?"

"You still haven't told me what's going on."

"I'm fine!"

"Dude, come on!"

Keesha groaned and looked towards the classroom door. Ralphie sighed and stood up.

"Okay, I admit it. My name is Mr. Ralphie Duke-Baseball-Champ Tennelli. You happy?"

She rolled her eyes, but Ralphie saw a small smile. He had her attention.

"Look, um...I know that you don't think too highly of me. And I know that I'm not exactly your best friend. But just, please consider this: I'm currently grounded, with a legit reason to not be here right now. But I, _Ralphie,_ snuck out of my house at four thirty in the morning, hid in Phoebe's car, so she could take me to school, all while I have a concussion, just so I could attend this meeting and help you. So don't you tell me that I don't care about you, because I DO!"

He put his big hands on her shoulders and looked her square in the eyes. "Now come on. Talk to me!"

Keesha tried to think of a snarky retort, but she couldn't. Ralphie had just stated a fact.

"Nice speech."

He removed his hands. "Thanks. I stole it from Phoebe."

She laughed. "Of course you did." They both sat down, sitting side by side in an empty hallway.

"So, you know my grandma, right?"

"Of course man."

"Well..." Keesha wasn't sure where to start. So she started with the first thing that came to mind. "Her daughter is a bitch."

"Um...dude, you don't have to be so hard on yourself."

"My mom."

"OH."

Keesha looked at her shoes. Ralphie wasn't sure if he should pry further.

"Is uh, everything okay with Mom?" he asked.

"It's not that big of a deal, I guess. Lenique - Mom - is just holding things up on my end when it comes to college and taking care of Gran. It's making things really hard on me with you know, logistics and stuff."

That wasn't the entire truth, or anything really close to the truth. Keesha had no intention of telling Ralphie everything. Especially when, if she was brutally honest, she didn't fully understand it herself.

"I mean, I'm sure it'll work out," he said. "She's your mom. She loves you, right?"

Keesha silently cursed him for his ignorance, but she knew that he was just trying to help.

"No. No she doesn't."

Ralphie felt something stir in the depths of his soul, but he really, _really,_ REALLY didn't want to think about it.

"I'm sorry. I know how you feel." he said.

 _Like hell you do!_ "I don't think you know what it's like to have your own family abandon you."

"Well, my dad died."

"It's not the same when they're dead. You don't have to keep dealing with them afterwards."

Ralphie disagreed vehemently, but said nothing.

"Listen, Keesh - can I call you Keesh?"

Keesha chuckled. "You're hopeless."

"I think of it as being determined. Anyways Keesh, I don't really know the whole story, so I can't give you any practical advice. But you always were a great thinker. I'm sure you'll figure something out!"

"Actually, I kinda have already."

 _Oh thank God, I'm off the hook,_ Ralphie thought. "I knew it! What's the plan?"

"My broadcast journalism teacher is having a friend of his visit for the Championship broadcast. He's a professor at Washington State University."

"What does this have to do with your Mom?"

"Long story short, I need to go somewhere in-state to take care of Gran, so that Lenique won't have to."

"Oh, so you're basically trying to score brownie points with this professor. Why are you even worried about getting into WSU? They're super easy. I could get into WSU, even without sports."

"I don't think you realize how bad my GPA is, Ralphie."

"Can't be worse than mine."

Keesha hung her head. She couldn't believe she was going to admit this to Ralphie of all people. "I have a 2.5."

"Whoa, really?!" He hadn't seen that coming.

"Hey, I have to take care of Gran, pay the utilities, and basically be an adult, okay? I have a job! I have finances! I don't have the time that DA does to keep a 4.0. Plus, I'm kind of strapped for cash, so even if I get accepted, I'll probably need scholarship money."

Ralphie remembered her application for Drake. Unlike him, she had a pretty good excuse for her poor GPA.

"Hey, it's still better than mine," he joked.

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, that makes me feel so much better."

"It should. You've bested the greatest athlete at Walkerville High. You should be proud of yourself."

Keesha just rolled her eyes, and he instantly regretted his words. "Hey, I'm kidding. Still, I don't understand why you're so worried. This broadcast will be a big hit."

She scoffed. "How can you be so sure?"

"Keesh, you're doing 2 hours of live television. May I remind you that you've done this before? With a certain someone?" Ralphie winked and gestured at himself.

"B-but that was with Ms. Frizzle!"

"Come on, we were 8 years old! I think 10 years of extra experience should more than make up for the lack of Ms. Frizzle. I've watched our old broadcast. It was kinda gross, being inside my body and all, but it was actually quite professional."

"You think so?"

He shrugged. "See for yourself. Come over to my place and we'll watch it together."

Keesha chuckled. "Why do _you_ have to be the star of every broadcast we do?"

"I'm mother-fucking Ralphie, 'R,' Baseball-Notre-Dame-Champion Tennelli. I was born for this."

She snorted. "Look, we have like, 30 minutes left."

He sighed. "Okay, but promise me one thing? Promise me that you'll sleep tonight. 8 hours."

"I promise. Let's take some chances, make some mistakes, and show WSU who's the boss."

She flinched a little as Ralphie wrapped his big arm around her slender frame, pulling her close to his large belly for a partial hug. Her body relaxed against his chest, and Keesha felt a warmth that made her want to be a little kid again. _Everything is going to be okay._ It would be just like the old days, when she lead a team of people that she could trust. She stayed in Ralphie's arms for a minute, resting, enjoying the moment.

Ralphie wondered if Keesha could hear his heart pounding. She was going through so much more than he could dream of, but this time, he was there. He could help. He wouldn't blow this. Not because he had a boner, but because she was counting on him. He held her tight, enjoying the feeling of her body resting on his.

"Thank you Ralphie."

"N-No problem."

"Can we go to class now?"

"Yeah...Let's do that."


End file.
